


Sic Erat In Fatis--So It Was Fated

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman, Legacy of Kain
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kain and Raziel prepare to return to time of the Empire, all in order to save the Razielim from extinction.  But moving thousands of vampires from one age to the next is no easy task ... assuming that there are any left to save.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So It Was Fated

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of explanation: this was originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). The basic premise of the game was that characters had been pulled from multiple worlds and marked as Chosen, in order to eventually restore a dying multiverse. The main storyline takes place in Nosgoth, however there may be occasional references to characters, magic systems and some borrowed vampire terminology from other canon sources.
> 
> Credit is also due to our co-author, the inestimable Yzaksama.

Standing on the balcony of his designated chambers, Raziel marvelled again at the green, verdant world that Nosgoth had once been. It was almost beyond imagining--a true paradise, and he had to admit to a certain anticipation at the prospect of seeing his clan experience it as well. If they got there in time ... if they could save enough to bring back, in the hopes that the timestream would not reject them .... Shaking away his doubts, Raziel turned to go back inside. He had made his decision. All was left was to see it through, and let Fate deal her hand.

Kain approached Raziel’s quarters as a broad sweep of small, winged bodies, like a black smudge rising up from the city below. In this shape, it was almost easier to seek Raziel’s overpowering aura than to echolocate for landmarks -- but both destinations seemed the same for this flight. The flock circled the temple’s central dome once in a dark river, then collected upon Raziel’s balcony.

They had been meeting thusly every few days -- Kain with reports of the goings-on outside the temple complex, Raziel with information regarding the happenings within. Between the two of them, the vampires had pieced together a relatively complete picture of the Ancients’ recent history, and of this era’s stability and safety. Kain had spoken to several of the newly-arrived Ancients regarding the far continent, and it was with this information he returned this eve.

Upon gathering the flock together, drawing it up into a humanoid form once more, Kain nodded politely. “Good eve, Raziel,” he said.

"Good eve," Raziel said, returning the courtesy. "Your arrival was most timely. Do you require blood, or _yarbareh_?" He waved Kain into the main room, letting the younger vampire seat himself as he liked.

Kain nodded, leading the way into Raziel’s quarters. “ _Yarbareh_ would be most welcome,” he said. A sitting room, off the larger central space, contained comfortable chairs -- though Kain rather doubted he’d ever become used to the backless devices -- and a large fireplace. Enchanted, a flame always danced within, though the logs were never consumed nor smoke produced. “Timely?” Kain asked, selecting two goblets before seating himself. “Have you discovered something of interest?”

Raziel shook his head, taking up a decanter and pouring a generous portion into first one goblet, then the other. "Nothing we have not spoken of before at this point. It just feels ... that time is pressing down upon us. Perhaps it is simply a fancy born of impatience, but I find myself thinking of the Hylden. Even with the timestreaming chamber--the longer we wait, the more likely the chance that they will discover the chambers. If they do--they could destroy or seal the timestreaming device, or even lay ambushes for our return."

Kain nodded slowly, setting one of the filled goblets upon the table, in front of the other chair. He took a sip of his own drink, savoring the flavor. It was not an old vintage -- the Ancients were still refining the production process, but the taste was rich with the land’s health. “I have collected as great a quantity of armor and weaponry as I can carry -- sufficient to at least partially equip several thousand.” Kain had also spent no little time seeking information regarding the Pillar of Balance, of course. Texts regarding it were likewise stored in his extradimensional spaces, though some of them would require laborious translating. “The question remains, however -- have you acquired the knowledge you need for a journey to the future?” Kain quite naturally assumed himself capable of handling whatever situations arose... but Raziel’s task was perhaps more difficult. As only the elder knew the future, it would fall to him to determine the time and places that could be visited without chancing expulsion by the timestream.

"I have learned what I could--there are some things, I fear, that only the Time Guardian himself can fully grasp." The mind of a man--or even of a vampire--was poorly equipped to understand the infinite. Not that it stopped Raziel from trying. "Still, I know well how to use the timestreaming portals, and the major branchings of time that have been prophesied. With a certain amount of due care, we should be able to fall afoul of any more intersections of time--unintentionally, at least." He seated himself, wings shifting, and leaned forward to take up the other goblet. "When we go forth, however, I must warn you that there are certain things you must prepare yourself for." He still could not quite bring himself to tell Kain of his future self; but he had no doubt the younger vampire would learn soon enough, once he visited the time of the Empire.

Kain inclined his head. “I will take gladly any advice you are able to give,” he stated. Kain did not, of course, promise to heed that advice. And he was perfectly aware that Raziel might not be able to provide him with entirely complete knowledge, or at least, not in a manner Kain might be able to fully comprehend. While it seemed the Pillar of Balance might afford him a better perspective on the timestream, given enough study, he was at the moment even less well-equipped than Raziel to manage the potential complexities of meddling in history.

The wry look Raziel gave him seemed to imply he knew well that Kain was not promising obedience. He did not push further, however, and said instead, "There are several concerns that must be addressed, the most pre-eminent of which is your identity--and mine. We cannot call you 'Kain' in front of others in the time of my clan--it will attract too many questions." The name 'Kain', while not a common one, had fallen completely out of use by the height of the empire. The humans would have kept their children nameless rather than share a name with--as they saw it--the immortal evil that ruled and took their lives. And those few vampires who had borne the name before it fell into disuse also took other names, rather than risk their god's ire at their presumption.

Kain considered that, then nodded, seeing the wisdom in it. He had, evidently, had a hand in crafting the empire which Raziel knew. Therefore, his name and image might well be near legendary, which pleased Kain no end. He thought a moment. He’d once had a relative of sorts, and though in private Kain’s family had oft referred to the man as uncle Buchephalus, his given name was suitable enough. Kaiun shrugged. “I can go by ‘Masiosare’, if that is common enough. But need I change my appearance? And will you?”

"That will also be a concern, yes," Raziel agreed. "Less so for you, since you are-" He stifled 'so young' and substituted- "-so obviously a fledgling," instead. "But for me ..." he grimaced. "I cannot afford to be recognized at *all*." Should even one creature, vampire or human peasant, report that 'Lord Raziel' had been seen alive .... the consequences could be dire indeed. "If I cannot find some manner of disguise, then we must at least ensure that no one lives to tell of my presence." He had inquired into it when he could, but so far the only talismans he had been able to find were either limited in duration or required lengthy preparation.

Kain arched an eyebrow. He failed to see how the addition of talons and a little body armor could render him particularly different from his present form -- still, perhaps talons such as Raziel’s were such a mark of distinction that few casual observers noticed anything further. “Is the age of the Empire so depopulated, then? For travel will be neigh impossible if you cannot be seen at all. Will a simple Disguise or Beguilement not suffice?”

"You mean, such as you employ?" He paused, thinking. "I see no reason why I could not learn it, if you were willing to teach--though I am not sure that a human guise would be anything but a hindrance in many cases." Raziel certainly had no intention of acting as if he were a slave! "The age of the Empire is not depopulated, though there are fewer humans than there are during your time. I had been thinking perhaps that I would need to keep to the air, or the wildlands, but ..." he shrugged, knowing such ideas had been flimsy at best.

Kain inclined his head. “The Disguise is indeed a shapeshifting into human form -- though the reshaping is so fragile and temporary as to be all but illusion. The Beguilement, however, is a mind-affecting magic, distorting the perceptions of those around you.” Kain used it to appear like unto a human noble, in order to gain information not otherwise on offer. “One should be able to appear as a vampire of authority, rather than a human of authority, easily enough. Concentration must still be carefully maintained, and the spell is harder to work, the more minds you attempt to affect. Tell me, have you any prior experience with mind-altering magics?”

Shaking his head, Raziel said, "Very little. I have learned a few tricks from other Chosen--how to paralyze an enemy, or put one to sleep, but no illusions or other such trickery." He took a contemplative sip of the bloodwine, savoring the taste as he thought. "If I could disguise myself as simply an unremarkable vampire--that would be invaluable. How difficult is the spell to learn?"

“Beguilement?” Kain considered. “Not difficult, I think, even if you have had little exposure to mind-magics.” Or at least, learning should not be difficult for a mage who possessed Raziel’s sheer scope of magical talent and available energy. And if nothing else, the Mind Guardian should be able to better explain the magics at play. “The difficulty comes in attempting to convince large crowds, or other powerful minds, of something that differs greatly from the truth.” Kain had yet to be able to manipulate the minds of even the meanest peasants into believing him invisible, though he had no doubt it should be possible. Kain gave it a moment’s thought, then shrugged slightly and relaxed his mental shields, ready to erect them again at a moment’s notice.

“Think of how you wish to appear -- imagine in vague terms, if you can. ‘Tis best to allow your target’s mind to fill in the details,” Kain instructed. “Then attempt to slip that image into my consciousness, disturbing as little else as possible, as if... as if tucking it beneath my aura.” At least, that was the place Kain would target, were he attempting to beguile Raziel. The same principal should hold true with himself as the subject.

Raziel listened intently, setting his goblet aside. _Yarbareh_ was not conducive to learning new spells, and most especially ones that required intense concentration. After Kain's instructions were complete, he closed his eyes, frowning a little as he tried to build a mental image of a vampire of middling age, unremarkable in appearance. It was more difficult than he had first thought--he kept wanting to think of specific vampires, specific faces that he remembered. Finally, unsure if he succeeded, he tried to reach out, to touch the thread of Kain's mind and push that image to him.

Kain batted the sending aside with a sharp little jab of magical energy. “If your target notices the insertion, the illusion will not hold, at best,” Kain stated, swirling his _Yarbareh_ a little to let the bloodwine breathe. “At worst, a heavy-handed attempt will burn your target’s mind from within, breaking it.” Which itself could be a rather entertaining weapon, though not an efficient one in terms of energy expended. “Work the magic behind the sending... thinly, as if you were forming an imagine out of a substance as fine as paper.”

Flinching reflexively at the sharp jab, Raziel growled under his breath ... then forced himself to calm, to restrain his power. He tried again--this time not pushing so much as trying to touch slightly upon Kain's aura, to slip his image past that barrier. It was surprisingly hard--his image kept wavering, and he had to focus as much on *not* pushing as he did upon creating it in the first place.

Kain watched carefully, offering correction from time to time as Raziel refined his attempts. The bleed-over of power generated a slight arcane breeze, like a prickling that trailed over the skin. But after a time, the image ghosted through Kain’s thinned shields, settling like gossamer over his mind. “Very good delivery...” Kain said, looking up from his wine -- and the corner of his mouth curved up. The image Raziel had managed was... disjointed, some parts solidly imagined, other parts left to Kain’s unconscious mind to assume. The result was a hodge-podge of features, both vampiric and human, that was rather more disturbing than nondescript. Kain cleared his throat. “...but methinks the execution could use some work. Rather than imagining a vampire noble, try sending only the impression of a respected or honored individual, Raziel. ‘Tis the respect you must needs focus upon, rather than any particular physical attribute.”

Raziel blinked open his eyes in surprise--and the fragile illusion promptly dropped as he lost his grip on it. "Damnation," he groused to himself, pulling a hand through his hair. "You would not think that engendering respect would pose such difficulties ..." With a gusty sigh, he closed his eyes again to aid in his concentration, and tried to think of not the face of a noble, but the ... air, the mannerisms, of a person used to command, and worthy of respect. His aura flared a little as he did so; an unconscious reaction to one well-used to asserting his authority among predatory kin.

Kain hid his smile in his wineglass -- it was a rare thing to see Raziel petulant. And for a moment, the easy and strangely comfortable way the elder took instruction struck Kain as just a little odd... then Kain was thoroughly busy shoring up his shields as Raziel’s next sending threatened to swamp him. “Do that to a peasant, and you will produce a slack-jawed imbecile. Try again,” Kain growled, prodding at the weave of Raziel’s spell to disperse it. It was a different sort of magic than Raziel had handled before, and refining the spell did take time. But eventually, though the illusion was perhaps a little shaky, Kain found himself looking upon the colorguard of a noble of Coorhagen, worn by a man whose features Kain could not later have described. Kain nodded, pleased. “I would be thoroughly disposed to cooperate with you. Superb.”

Opening his eyes once more, Raziel picked up his goblet again, and raised it in salute. "My thanks on your instruction--with further practice, this spell should aid us greatly on our travels." He could not help but wonder why Kain had never taught it to his offspring before ... but perhaps that too was Fate playing out her hand. "I shall need to work on it, of course, so that it can be brought to bear much more quickly."

Kain nodded slowly. “Try the spell upon your guard, and practice upon more than one mind at a time, if you have the chance. Have you other warnings for myself, or considerations regarding Tarrant, while we are in the Empire era? Oh, and... will you go by your own name?”

Raziel blinked. Kain had a point. 'Raziel' was hardly a common name in *any* era, and none among the Razielim would have ever dared claim it ... "You have a point--my name would also draw attention," he said ruefully. "I shall have to think of another." He took another contemplative sip, thinking. "Have you any suggestions, perhaps?"

Kain gave the matter some thought. “I once knew a ‘Rahab’ whom I favored,” he said thoughtfully, “and an ‘Azrael.’” The former was not an uncommon name, at least.

Raziel almost choked on his wine at that, irregardless of the fact that he didn't need to breathe. "Er--Rahab would not suit me, I do not think," he managed to say once he had recovered. Kain had--could it be the same Rahab? Given that his brother had died long ere Kain was born, he could not fathom how .... "Azrael--it is not a common name, but not one any would recognize. And close enough to my own to be easy to recall ..."

Kain lifted a hand, prepared to assist when Raziel inhaled too harshly, aspirating some of his wine. Kain might not need to draw breath on a regular basis, but inhaling liquid still hurt, even if it was only blood. “As I recall, ‘Rahab’ was the historical name of some obscure hero or another, though the tale may have been twisted over time. Or at least, that was the reason for its popularity in my era. Given the task we undertake now, it does not seem so farfetched a name to utilize. Still, Azrael, if you prefer.” Kain nodded. “What of Tarrant? Do you believe we shall have to make any special arrangements to accommodate -- or distract -- him?”

"Tarrant ..." Raziel said, somewhat relieved that Kain had not pressed the matter of Rahab's name. "He is an unpredictable creature. He and I have come to a tenuous understanding regarding our true goals, but .... we will need to watch him, even if we cannot control him." Which was a distasteful thought, at that. "When we arrive in the future era, and encounter my clan--events are likely to occur very quickly indeed. Which will make that task all the more challenging ...."

Kain nodded slowly. “That may be the best we can do, for the moment, though I like it not.” He paused. “Given the ease with which I have managed to nettle the man in the past, I believe I may be able to provide a certain amount of sidetracking, should it prove necessary.” Tarrant, for some reason, disliked permitting Kain out of his sight for long.

“As for your clan,” Kain continued, “besides marshalling and moving them to the timestreaming chamber, what other difficulties do you foresee? They need only carry supplies for, perhaps, a month -- I think a long siege upon the Hylden would prove too costly.”

"Hmm. I agree--we can ill afford the time it would take should both sides become entrenched, and the Hylden have far more resources in that regard than we do, given the bulk of our forces will be moving between times," Raziel said thoughtfully. "Weapons and armor, along with a certain amount of blood glyphs and potions, can be carried without need of a baggage train and ensure that our forces can move swiftly. Once we have gathered up a sufficient number of warriors for an initial vanguard, we can bring them--" he stopped short, eyes widening in realization. "Oh--bloody hell. Damnation ... I had not realized ..."

Kain nodded as Raziel walked through the steps and considerations they would have to take, upon arrival. He frowned when Raziel stopped. “What?” Kain inquired. “Do you believe the Hylden may be watching for use of the portal? They did not seem to me to have that capability, but if you feel otherwise, we can move the entire force through as a single group.”

If Raziel could blanch, he would have. As it was, he castigated himself for not thinking of it earlier. For the timestreaming portals, secreted away in caves in both Kain's time and that of the Ancients--would eventually become the heart of Moebius' citadel. A citadel that was taken for Kain's own after Moebius' death and the rise of the Empire.

To reach his clan--and to bring them into this paradise--he would have to bring them into the very heart of the fortress of their god and Emperor--the one who had ordered their destruction.

He could hardly tell *this* Kain of the threat posed by his future self. For that matter, if this younger Kain succeeded in the liberation of the Razielim, would the elder future-Kain step aside--or block the very attempt? And if he did choose the latter--did they stand any chance at all? Raziel groaned, dropping his forehead into one palm. "How could I have not seen it before?" he said in disgust. "Kain--the timestreaming portals will be--well guarded. In fact ... they are at the heart of the most feared citadel of the Empire."

Kain frowned. “ _That_ portal?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder towards the mountains to the north and east. “The one in Moebius’ future lair, not three hours’ flight from here?” He thought for a time. “It surprises me not that the complex would have been taken over and utilized -- those cliffs are defensible, if nothing else.” It did surprise him, to a certain extent, that an empire he had helped to found would persecute Raziel and his clan, after the execution of their clan lord. Underlings could hardly be held accountable for their superior’s treachery, after all.

Kain shook the contemplations away. “Then we will appear within this fortress when we arrive in your era, correct? And the citadel would be difficult escape from, or to penetrate later? Even with a force such as yours?”

Raziel set the cup aside as his talons threatened to leave permanent grooves upon the metal. "Escaping from it--for you and I, if we are careful, would be entirely possible." Raziel was one of the few who knew Kain's citadel well, from the times he had been summoned by his sire. "Bringing a large force through it--or against it--is another matter entirely." He could not--*would not*--lead the Razielim against Kain. That would only ensure their destruction even more quickly, as the other Clans rallied to Kain's defense. Assuming Kain simply did not take umbrage and destroy them himself; a feat Raziel believed he was perfectly capable of.

"There generally is not a large standing force at the citadel itself. There ... has been no need for it. But should the lord of that fortress become aware of our attempt ..." he trailed off, unsure how to adequately explain the threat of an elder Kain to the younger.

Kain did not appear to be attending Raziel closely, though he internalized every word. Instead he watched the dance of the flames in the hearth, swirling one finger slowly over the rim of his goblet. They required the timestreaming portal. Therefore.... “Then we needs must have a more clever way in and out, correct? Tell me, how many teleportation endpoints are you capable of setting, presently?”

"Several--at least five, though I may be able to set more, if pressed." In a city as small as Haven, there had been little need for more. "But I still needs must go to the location that I wish to set the endpoint in--unless you're thinking of teleporting my clan to the portals by ones and twos?" Raziel asked skeptically. Given the numbers they had hoped to find, that would seem an inelegant solution.

Kain arched an eyebrow. “If we took men by threes, moving a thousand soldiers into the chamber would take the pair of us three hours -- less, if some of your kin are mages enough to master the spell beforehand, and utilize it as well.” Casting the spell over a hundred and fifty times each way in the space of three hours, however... that might be of considerable difficulty, at least for Kain. But he did have a number of energy banks, obtained from Haven. “As for escaping from the citadel in the first place... endpoints, I have found, do not degrade once set. Theoretically, if we were to put endpoints just outside the city, they would still be valid and usable ten thousand years in the future.”

“As for escaping from the citadel in the first place... endpoints, I have found, do not degrade once set. Theoretically, if we were to put endpoints just outside the city, or near wherever you expect your clan will be in the future, they would still be valid and usable ten thousand years hence.”

"Theoretically?" Raziel echoed, looking intrigued and skeptical all at once. "Have you tested this theory at all?" Perhaps, with the two of them working in tandem, and if certain of the Razielim could be found--perhaps it could be done. Though Raziel found himself still wondering if such ephemeral spellworkings could survive the test of centuries, where forests and fortresses could not ....

Kain snorted softly. “Tested it? Of course not. I have never found myself ten thousand years apart in time from my destination. Still... if the endpoints do degrade to the point that they cannot be used, at worst we would have to arrive, set new endpoints in the chronoplast chamber, then escape undetected from this citadel by air or by foot.” Kain tapped his claws thoughtfully. “Other options may include requesting a smaller, timestreaming device from the Ancients now, though I know not if they can cast so many users through such great spans of time. Or... hn. Do you know of any chronoplast chambers, other than this one?”

Raziel started to shake his head, then hesitated. "Wait--there was another. In the fortress of the Sarafan, Moebius had another chamber, hidden behind sealed doors. Though whether the scheming wretch had built it himself or simply taken advantage of one already previously constructed .... that I do not know."

“The Sarafan fortress, on the shores of the Great Southern Lake?” Kain inquired. “Did this citadel exist, undisturbed, in your era?” The fortress in Kain’s era was assuredly a citadel he did not want to have to fight his way out of... though with an army at his back, it might be rather... entertaining. It would certainly be more convenient, located closer to Meridian and the Hylden activity there. As to whether it existed in this era... Kain selected one of the maps he kept in a dimensional pocket, and spread it out on the table between them. “Gana,” he said, switching to the common human tongue. “Come here. Tell me, is there a fortress or another chronoplast built here, upon the shores of this lake?” The guardswoman moved from the room’s entrance to the table obediently and tilted her head, studying the somewhat unfamiliar outlines of a terrain from seven thousand years in the future.

"It exists, though I rather doubt it is anything but ruins," Raziel said slowly, casting his mind back to what he knew of the area. The Sarafan fortress had lain in an area bordering both Rahab and Melchiah's territories, though neither of them had claimed the fortress as their own. "In the early days, it was often a bastion for vampire hunters and human rebellions--desperate fools who hoped to find some manner of shield or weapon, or that something of the Sarafan's reputation might keep our forces at bay. They learned otherwise soon enough. The castle itself was left to crumble after the last rebellion was put down, but the chronoplast chambers were deep within, and might still be intact ..."

Kain nodded slowly. If the ruins of the citadel had been picked clean, he did not think it likely that the chronoplast chamber within, with its delicate golden gearwork and cleverly-wrought stone veneer, would be untouched. Still, it would be worth a look.

“Here?” Gana asked, laying a talon on the spot where the citadel would one day stand. “Yes, there is a small township, and a temple. But no chronoplast.” She looked to Raziel. “Shall we build one?”

Raziel gave Kain a startled glance. Tempting as it was to simply say 'yes', caution made him say instead, "...let me take the matter up with the Time Guardian. Rightly, he would be the best one to decide such things." At least he knew it would be built, one way or another--thankfully his simple 'yes' or 'no' did not have the power to derail history in such a fashion.

Gana nodded, a little uncertainly. “I should... should have him summoned?” she asked, hardly stumbling over the complex tense. Her common-tongue had been improving by leaps and bounds over the last few weeks.

Kain hid a smirk in his goblet. It was so different to exist within the bounds of history, like this, seeing the way the streams of events both began and ended, rather than twisting those events thoughtlessly to suit his immediate need. There might be much to learn from Raziel’s cautious stance on meddling with time.

"It would make things a great deal easier," Raziel mused out loud, but shook his head when Gana turned away, as if to go fetch the Time Guardian right that instant. "No, I will speak with him later. There is no need to disturb him for this just yet." He glanced at Kain once more. "So we are agreed? We set endpoints in this time, outside the caves here, then travel hence through this chronoplast, and back through the other?" Which was nowise as simple as it sounded, given the enemies they would need to battle or elude along the way. Neither of them had expected this gamble to be easy, however.

Kain nodded slowly. “Recall that, in my era, the Sarafan citadel is just that -- a fortress full of Sarafan -- and their inquisitors include many hundreds like those warriors we ambushed, during our first return to Nosgoth. We, and your clan, will reappear in my era in the heart of that force.” They would ambush the resident Sarafan from a completely unexpected direction, and if Raziel’s fellow soldiers were anything like him, of course the Sarafan would stand little chance. But it might be a difficult battle to wage, if they intended to face the Hylden shortly thereafter.

"It appears we are caught on the horns of a dilemma, then," Raziel said, frowning. "We either risk battle at the citadel here in my future-time, or at the Sarafan fortress in yours. In truth, I am not sure which would be the greater risk." If it were just the humans, Raziel had no doubt his clan would cut them down like wheat. It was likely, however, that the vampire-hunters of Kain's time were now backed with Hylden magic and arms, which was another matter entirely.

Kain nodded slowly. “If the Sarafan do not have access to the timestreaming chamber within their midst...” and Kain could not imagine that they did, else time-tampering would have become rampant, “...then we have all the time we should like, to teleport your men away in small groups, if we care not to take the humans in ambush.” he said. Of course, the same thing held true for Raziel’s era -- surely the master of this ‘most feared citadel’ in Raziel’s era likewise did not have access to the portal there, either.

Raziel grimaced, thinking of it. "This plan seems to grow more unwieldy by the moment, but there is little help for it," he conceded. "The Sarafan themselves are long gone, thankfully--we will only have what is left of Moebius' butchers to deal with. My fear is that the Hylden's grasp has already extended to the fortress--in which case splitting our forces, however briefly, might prove to be a fatal mistake. We will not know for sure until we try, either way."

Moebius’ butchers, in Kain’s opinion, had become markedly well organized. And if they were not so well-trained as the legendary Sarafan, they certainly had those fanatics’ same zeal for hunting undead. Still, Kain was not certain if that xenophobic group of crusaders would have fallen in with the Hylden so quickly. “In the Ancients’ time, let us set teleportation markers outside the oracle’s cave, near your clan’s future territory, near the future site of Meridian, and near the future Sarafan citadel. Before reaching your era, then, let us stop at mine, and visit the latter of those markers, for a brief reconnaissance, before continuing forward to your era."

Thinking on the proposal and finding no flaws, Raziel nodded. "Very well. Your plan should cover most contingencies quite well." Finishing off his bloodwine, he set the goblet aside. "The Ancients would like us to stay longer, but I believe we have learned what we can--and more than I ever expected when embarking upon this trip. If this works ... I will have cause to even more grateful to them." A fact his younger self would never know. His life was full of irony, it seemed. "When would you prefer to leave?"

Kain considered the quality of the light filtering from the balcony, the rise of morning birdsong. Dawn would break within hours. And as resistant to sunlight as he, himself, had become, too-long exposure to bright sunlight could still be most uncomfortable on the bats’ furless wings. “Tonight, I think, to set the markers. Perhaps tomorrow evening to depart via the chronoplast. Ah, and... if you do not wish to bring Gana with us, you may wish to leave some orders concerning her. I must admit myself uneasy over the political and religious power wielded by the death guardian.” Were Kain in that Guardian’s place, there would be every reason to grant Gana her ‘freedom’ the moment Raziel was otherwise occupied. Which would be something of a shame, for she had proved herself markedly useful.

Raziel gave him a surprised look, then nodded slowly as he apprehended Kain's purpose. "Ah, yes--I see what you mean." Gana was a low-ranking Ancient in comparison to the Guardians, but she also owed no other loyalties, nor had any connivances of her own that they likely needed to fear. As a servant who could be trusted to serve as their eyes and ears among the Ancients, to interpret the inner workings of her people for them, Gana could be invaluable--provided she was not suborned or worse in their absence. "Perhaps I will commend her to Janos' care. She can make herself useful for him in our absence, perhaps by assisting in the arrangements for my clan's arrival."

Kain nodded. “An effective solution. As for the rest -- will you finish with your goals” and indeterminable ceremonies, some few of which Kain had observed from a distance, “here by tonight? Shall I meet you here this evening, at sunset?”

"Easily," Raziel said, standing up. "I shall be here." For the first time in a long while, he felt the first shreds of hope. His clan might still have a future, even if he did not. That alone was a balm better than any potion.


	2. Ad eundum quo nemo ante iit - To boldly go where no man has gone before

The dust of the chronoplast chamber, once undisturbed, now bore a series of tracks leading both in and out. The air within was no longer stale.

Not, of course, that any of the three intruders had cause to notice that last. None of them needed to breathe, after all.

Over the course of the last three hours, Kain, Raziel, and Tarrant had departed the Ancients’ era, to the sendoff of a vast crowd -- nearly every Ancient still alive upon the planet. They’d arrived in Kain’s own era within days after leaving, to judge by the lack of fresh dust upon their prior tracks. The teleportation markers, so carefully laid a day -- or seven millennia -- ago, were just as fresh as when they’d been laid. The land, however, had changed much more over time, and one of the markers had teleported them to a location some twenty feet above the ground, much to Kain’s dismay. He was still plucking brambles from his armor. But at least they were not teleported *into* the ground. And the vampires' careful scouting had been... encouraging.

Now once again, they stood inside the chronoplast’s massive dome. The mechanical device overhead was silent and still, the portal dark. Kain assisted in setting the dials, attending carefully upon Raziel’s instructions, to align the timestreaming chamber to the year 1679 AE. The last switch was thrown, and above, the chronoplast mechanism began to whirr to life, bolts of lightning arching and sparking from its fins.

Raziel's eyes were intent on the portal, watching the gathering energies with a singleminded focus, almost as if he were poised to spring through the chronoplast the moment the portal had formed. He paid little heed to the others--here and now, all his thoughts were upon his clan, and what they might find.

Even an immortal vampire could be impatient sometimes ...

Tarrant looked on, for now little more than a relatively passive observer.

The portal blasted open with a high whine, a shine of white and blue and gold.

Kain looked to Raziel, then with care, moved the Reaver from his back to its extradimensional pocket, replacing it with a lesser claymore of Ancient design. Raziel had warned him of allowing the flamberge to be seen. With a brief nod, Kain stepped through.

The transition this time was shakier, rougher, as if the fabric of time had undergone some warping. With a sickening lurch, Kain stepped into the very same chamber he had left... now nearly two thousand years in the future.

Kain lifted his head, inhaling, even as he slowly made way for those behind him. How very... strange. The inside of the chronoplast, of course, looked almost exactly as it had two millennia previous, though it had clearly been cleaned, and was lit with orbs similar to the ones Kain could summon. But something was different -- very different. Power, finely-woven, hummed at the edges of his senses, like the taste of electricity in the air.

Raziel fell out of the portal's energies, his wings half-unfurled as he landed in a crouch, listening intently. The fortress around them was silent--and the only aura he could feel was that of the younger Kain, not the elder, though that was no assurance of solitude. His Sire in this time was infinitely more resourceful and devious than the Kain who accompanied him.

The citadel was just as he remembered it, and Raziel suppressed a minute shudder at the memories it evoked. His last bloody anguished moments in this era were over and done with now, and he would not allow that memory, nor any others, to bar his path. Unsheathing his blade, he glanced at the others, taking their measure.

"This is the right era--I am sure of it."

"Be cautious," Tarrant warned them, once he'd gotten his bearings, used a touch of magic to smooth his hair and attire into impeccability, and drawn his coldfire sword.

His gaze lingered briefly on Kain. "And discreet."

Kain snorted softly. His eyes turned towards the massive, open doorways, judging the well-lit corridor beyond. "Would you have us teleport, or leave via the citadel?" Kain asked, making it clear which one he preferred -- there was something fascinating about this place, the power built up here over millenia. How far did it extend? To whence did these flowing rivers of half-sensed energy go? Kain started down the stairway, headed to the bowl of the chamber and the citadel that beckoned beyond.

"It would be safer if we--" Raziel broke off as Kain moved out of the chamber, obviously not listening. "Damnation--Kain, be careful! We cannot afford to be trapped here!" he hissed urgently, moving out to follow, scanning the archways and corridors that lay beyond the chronoplast.

"Must needs we put a leash on you, Kain, lest your fledgling's impatience get us all into trouble again?" Tarrant's tone was coolly sweet.

Kain responded with a low hiss. " _Leashed?_ Mayhaps we should see how you manage your false eternity when rendered into giblets and paste," he growled, turning from the corridor.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Kain wheeled, dragging his sword from its hooks upon his back... only to find a single terrified human, who had paused in a cross-section of corridors. The man was clean and relatively healthy, but had clearly been tapped before, judging by the scars on its throat. Rather than an alarmed shout, the only sound that emerged was a soft, oddly mangled gasp. The man carried a bucket and an armload of cloths, both of which he dropped promptly before prostrating himself upon the ground.

The corner of Kain's mouth turned up. 'Trouble' indeed.

Raziel wrapped a restraining hand around Kain's arm before the younger vampire could do something rash, summoning the Beguilement spell as he did so. "He has been silenced, like all the slaves here--there is little need to kill him," he said quietly. "The golems and outer guards will be more of a threat." Turning his head, he slashed a hand through the air. "Leave us," he ordered preemptorily.

"...Giblets and _paste_?" The insult clearly bemused Tarrant. "How would you do that, exactly? Fall into a trap that would pulverize us all?"

The human scrabbled to gather up his supplies, and promptly fled the arguing party. To Kain's vision, Raziel's form seemed to shimmer, his wings vanished, his features bled into unremarkability. It took effort to hold Raziel's true visage in his mind's eye -- the elder's grasp of the magic had progressed remarkably swiftly.

"Do you see any traps here, with witless humans underfoot?" Kain hissed. The citadel had been clearly carved out of the chambers the Ancients had left, but a vast amount of further construction had occurred. "How does one exit?" Kain asked of Raziel, stalking to the corridor cross-section.

"Like this," Raziel snapped, finally losing his patience with Kain's headstrong stubbornness. He grabbed the younger vampire by the arm once more. Wrapping a hand over Tarrant's shoulder once the Power stepped within reach, he summoned his power and *reached*, searching for the distant endpoint he had set at the edges of his territory, eons in the past--and all three of them disappeared in a flash of light.

When they reappeared, it was Tarrant who made the first sound-- a raw, agonised cry as sunlight struck his unprotected form full force. It was like being caught in a blast furnace; his skin was incinerated within moments, and it was only through sheer desperation that he found that torc and slipped it over his skull-like head.

And fell to his knees, spilling blood and charred flesh to the ground.

Paste, indeed!

They reappeared in the hilly highlands Kain recognized as surrounding Coorhagen. The sky was bright, hot rays of sunlight filtering through the cloud cover. Kain blinked, working at extracting his wrist from Raziel's serrated grasp.

Tarrant's agony drew Kain's interest -- but the power convergences were here, too. Vast flowing rivers of power, sweeping their way across a late summer landscape. Tangles of energy tied themselves to the nearby plants, the soil, the very air, woven with complexity Kain could not fathom. The plants were darker of leaf than those of Kain's era, gathering up what sun they could, though they grew no less abundantly for all the cloud cover. Something like a fox, but armored with dull gunmetal scales, darted away from the three vampires, its cry a strange, high tritch-tritch, almost like that of a cicada.

In the distance, smudges of smoke lined the horizon here and there. To the north and west, the mountains rose higher, becoming more jagged. The light cast the snow upon their peaks in gold.

"Bloody hell!" In his frustration and his impatience, Raziel had forgotten about the Power's unique susceptibility to sunlight, even the clouded, weak sunlight of Empire-era Nosgoth. By the time Tarrant had managed to put on the torque, Raziel had sunk to one knee, ripping his wrist open even as he registered the ruin of Tarrant's burned flesh.

"If blood will help, then drink," he said grimly, holding the wound over that half-open mouth. He hoped the offering would help, for if it did not, neither vampire had any other healing magicks that would aid him ....

Tarrant's head turned towards the scent of that thick, dark blood, finding it by scent, for his ruined eyes were no longer capable of sight-- the incinerating sunlight had made them run out of the sockets like fried jelly.

Skeletal hands closed 'round Raziel's wrist, and his mouth sealed tightly over the wound. His lengthening eyeteeth even sank in as his self-control was shattered, and he took long, desperate draughts.

It took several long moments before he was capable of pulling away. The damage was so extensive, so shocking to his system, that he lay on the ground, unmoving, blackened, a lifeless corpse that could easily have been left for dead.

But at work within him were minute processes which strove to repair the insult to his body. It would simply take time, more time than it had taken in Kadar's office. That had been a beam of echoed sunlight; this was the the sun itself.

Thankfully, Raziel had fed well before setting out on this venture. Still, he was concerned that Tarrant did not seem to be healing--not visibly, at least, though at least the other vampire was not getting any worse. Growling a little under his breath, furious with himself for such a idiotic mistake, Raziel pulled a warded cloak from the air and settled it lightly over the Power.

"We must move," he said to Tarrant and Kain both. "We cannot stay out in the open like this." The area was rocky, and forested only lightly. It was far from ideal terrain in which to care for the wounded.

Kain tilted his head, his attention distracted only reluctantly from his surroundings, watching Raziel apply what manner of first aid was possible under such circumstances. "Can we not?" Kain mused, his narrowed gaze tracing one of Tarrant's blackened hands. He had stakes enough, he was quite certain, to nail the Power's limbs quite thoroughly to the rocky soil. It would be a simple matter, then, to remove that gleaming, golden torque, to use an axe to behead the neocount, to spark a fire and feed the corpse to the flames....

The considering nature of Kain's reply made Raziel glance up at him narrowly, his kneeling stance shifting into something ... subtly protective.

"As inconvenient as it is to have the Power dogging our steps, it will be a great deal more inconvenient if we return without him," he pointed out. His voice was oddly harsh as he continued, "And he ... apprehends our goals better than I would have ever hoped. I would not leave even an enemy thus--much less one who is at least tangentially our ally."

Kain's eyes slid to Raziel, assessingly. Returning without Tarrant would be, in Kain's opinion, a small concern in comparison with the benefit of dealing with a potential foe now. But greater than both those considerations... Raziel wanted the Power left alive. That was all there was to the matter, really. Kain nodded briefly. "Very well." The corner of his mouth turned up. He had not expected that anything about this journey would be easy nor convenient, after all.

Kain called a larger sheet of soft fabric to hand, and set to spreading it out. "Help me lift him here. We can keep him completely covered from the light, whilst you or I carry him. Do you require a rune vial? And do you know the lay of this land, or where we might find your people?"

"I know the area well," Raziel said in answer, somewhat relieved at Kain's capitulation. "There are no caves nearby, but there is a valley a half-day's travel from here. It is both narrow and thickly forested--it will serve well for temporary concealment, at least." Leaning down, he slid his taloned hands under that burned body with delicate care. Waiting until Kain had gathered up Tarrant's legs, he lifted the burned neocount up slowly and laid it on the sheet, doing his best to disregard the ash and charred flesh that flaked away from even that gentle movement.

"As for my clan ... I suggest we start with the sentry outposts, and the major villages. If my clan holdings have all been overrun, then the situation is dire indeed."

Kain nodded. It was a shame that no horses would tolerate the nearness of a vampire. "Unless you can carry a man in the air, we shall have to proceed on foot," he said, flicking the edge of Raziel's warded cloak to better cover Tarrant's burned flesh. He then turned the top and bottom of the blanket over atop the cloak, and starting at the side, wrapped Tarrant carefully in the fabric. The swaddling was, Kain feared, too tight for comfort... but if it were too loose, the fabric would rub with every movement of the carrier, which would ultimately be worse for such injuries.

Raziel's clan holdings... Kain had known the elder must surely be an individual of some rank in his clan, but to command multiple townships -- Raziel was surely no mere baronet or viscount. Kain turned that notion over in his mind.

Still, though, Raziel had not answered -- Kain offered his wrist. "Do you require blood, or will a rune vial suffice?" he asked again. Tarrant had extracted a donation from the elder that would have left Kain near insensate.

Raziel shook his head. "I will be fine for the nonce, and we can hunt once darkness falls. Let us take to the air--I can carry Tarrant, and we stand little chance of being suprised in our journey thus." Once the neocount was thoroughly covered, Raziel rose to his feet, cradling the awkward burden easily in his arms.

Kain inclined his head, and then his body dissolved into a multitude of squabbling, winged forms. The bats spiraled upwards, squeaking unhappily at the light and the broad-winged beasts of the air they could sense. Tracking Raziel's aura, the bats waited until the elder took to the sky, and trailed afterwards in a disorderly flock.

For once, Kain sought not to overtake Raziel, but rather tried to gather what information he could regarding this new era. There were hilly meadows and little groups of human habitations nearby broad fields filled with crops, irrigated by diversions of mountain streams. There were the wide-spread canopies of forests, the leaves of each tree oversized and dark in hue. There was the scent of blood and char on the breeze, just faintly.

Tarrant endured the ignominy of it all in enforced silence, locked in half-conscious agony. Better to rest and heal...

How fortunate, he reflected dimly, that Raziel's honor, weakness though it sometimes was, had come through once again. As its beneficiary, he would certainly not hold it in contempt now!

Slowly but surely, however, his ravaged body reknitted itself from the inside out. Several hours would pass before the blackened gore covering him would begin to flake away from slowly-growing, new, sun-ruddied flesh.

Raziel could undoubtedly feel the small, subtle movements of his healing body beneath the blanket; it might well have seemed that, at one point, he held a sack of slithering worms.

The smell of his once-charred corpse still lay thickly over him, however, trapped in that stained blanket. What lay beneath was still a horror to look at, but that flesh was living, bleeding fresh blood whose scent underlaid that of cooked meat.

Taking to the air, Raziel flew steadily, gliding as often as he could to gain and maintain altitude, so as not to jar the wounded body he carried. Indeed he could feel the slight shiftings of healing as flesh reformed itself, and he found himself relieved that either the blood given or Tarrant's own innate power was working to restore the other vampire. Not only because of his own rash error, but if Tarrant could not be healed, they would have had to return him to Haven; and who knew if the Powers would have allowed their return afterwards?

The landscape below was achingly familiar; they had arrived in his lands perhaps a year after his execution, in the waning days of summer. The grasses were sere and golden, even in the dimmed light that the perpetual cloud cover afforded, and the dark-canopied trees in full leaf. The minute rustlings of insects and animals were all apparent to his ears, and the distant cry of birds--familiar and ringing of 'home'. How long had he desired this? Forever, it seemed ....

Out here, the signs of human habitation were fewer, more spread out in isolated hamlets. It was with a sense of relief that Raziel could not spy any vampire activity. He had chosen his endpoint hoping for a measure of isolation, not wishing to end up in the middle of a village or a battle unprepared. Given what had occurred when they *had* arrived, he found himself even more grateful for their solitude. They could not afford to enter into battle in this era from anything but a position of strength--the Clans' grip on the land was far too absolute for anything less.

It was more than three hours, the landscape streaking by underwing, before Raziel spotted his destination. The flock followed him down in a twisting spiral, through the gaps between laden branches and into the cool sanctuary of a thickly forested vale.

Kain set himself to reforming with some discomfort -- sunlight, and the inability to protect fragile wing membrane from sunburn, was one of the major reasons natural bats did not fly during the day. Kain assisted Raziel with his burden, spreading some furs upon which to lay the body. He could feel twitching under the thin covering, which was surely a relatively good sign. Upon attempting to gingerly unwrap the covering, however, Kain found that dried blood and gore had crusted thickly. He paused, unwilling to peel back the blanket and risk tearing any healing structures.

"Do it," rasped a thick, clotted voice from beneath those blankets. " _Now_ that... I have protection... from the sun."

Kain profferred a skin of water silently, and Raziel took it. Sprinkling water over the edges of the crusted wounds to soften them, he gingerly began to peel the cloth away from Tarrant's body. It was more painful that way, but stood less chance of ripping off any newly healed skin along with the cloth.

It took some time, given how grievous Tarrant's wounds had been. Eventually the last bit of cloth was tugged free, and Raziel sat back on his heels, surveying the neocount.

"You are improving," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral and void of the guilt he felt.

Kain watched silently, keeping clear of the water being used. He had witnessed the neocount clean himself in the past, but then... perhaps healing even this much had taken a great deal of the man's resources. Still, as fastidious as Tarrant was... "Can you roll at all to the side?" Kain asked. They could at least discard the blanket, and Tarrant could lay upon the softer furs.

Tarrant said nothing save, "Of course," to them both. His tone was determinedly cool, calm, _civilised, in control_ , though every movement was white-hot agony and he was forced to present to them a ravaged monster's countenance.

He moved as Kain had asked him to. In some places, pink new skin had begun to form, growing like small islands among a sea of thick, glistening red.

Once Tarrant was settled, Raziel backed away, giving his fellow predator the benefit of some space. He settled to the ground near the base of a gnarled tree with a sigh, feeling the Hunger as it started to make itself known. He would need to hunt soon--within a day or so, at least.

"My ... apologies, Tarrant. I acted rashly and without thinking," he said quietly, now that the man seemed capable of hearing it.

Kain arched a brow as he folded up the stained blanket. He'd dispose of it at a distance -- some of the predators he'd sensed previously were large and potentially worrysome. The blanket -- as well as Tarrant himself, most likely -- would attract them.

But Raziel's apology stiffened his back. The fault was hardly any of Raziel's -- and were it not for Tarrant's presence, Kain would have taken him to task then and there. Surely the Power had some ability to sense that it was daylight outside the citadel. "I will dispose of this elsewhere," Kain grated. "And shall return with prey."

"...Should I be offended," and Tarrant somehow sounded almost wry, "That you gave me all the thought that an elder would give another elder?"

He was aggravated, this was true. He did not like to be so... reduced. And Raziel's apology must have been hard-given, because that vampire was proud, and it was an admission of his own mistake.

But it was necessary to offer some mollification, too. Tarrant knew well what diplomacy was. All three of them were willful, proud men. To rub Raziel's face in his own guilt now might perhaps result in the other vampire, should such a thing happen again, reconsider his own impulse to preserve Tarrant's existence.

Raziel's mouth turned up in a expression too wry to be considered a smile. "I do not think Kain considers you as such," he said evenly, neither condoning nor excusing his sire's anger. "And he has never been one to offer apologies, as such." Kain was Kain, even as a fledgling. "Irregardless, I let my ... anxiety over my clan and our presence here push me into ill-considered action." Having more time to think had made him realize that along with temper had been the fears of meeting an elder Kain that had led him to flee the citadel as he had. "This time you were the only one to suffer for it. Next time it might be all of us. I shall have to remember that."

Perhaps Tarrant knew more than he was letting on, or skimming Raziel's thoughts; perhaps they were just thinking along similar lines.

He knew the elder's past, after all.

"Kain was very close, as well. My present condition aside, it's better that we left."

"You could sense him?" Raziel said in some surprise. He had not--but perhaps the younger Kain's aura had masked the elder?

"The energies of the land... energies in general... I was an Adept before I became a vampire, and that's... part of what comes along with it. Sensing, seeing, the currents of energy. Someone of Kain's stature, power... that distorts everything around him."

As he spoke, Tarrant's voice grew incrementally stronger, his breathing more even.

"That signature of energy... it's unmistakable. There is no one else here like Kain, not even Kain as he is now-- though his most recent evolution... has imbued him with even more of his future arrogance. There is no one else like you, either. If you couldn't sense him... well, I know that you can't see all of the currents here. But perhaps... that also, on some subconscious level, influenced your actions."

Raziel gave him a considering look. "What you say does not surprise me in one sense, at least. Kain is ... unique. That you can sense him might be very beneficial to us, however." Had he instinctively fled from his Sire's presence? It was a disconcerting thought for one who prided himself on standing his ground against and and all foes ...

He sighed, dragging his talons idly over a nearby rock. "In truth, I do not know what the Kain of this time would do ere we met him. After all, if history comes full circle, and *our* Kain goes back to his appointed place in history--" and he would have too, else Raziel himself would never be created, "--then he will have full knowledge of our actions in this time, and a vested interest in letting them happen as they were destined to. But if our Kain never goes back, or there is some other split or offshoot in time that I cannot see--or if there is some hidden reason why the Razielim must die--then Kain will bring all his power to bear to stop us. And that is a most potent threat indeed ...."

"We stick to the plan," Tarrant murmured. "If I sense him nearby, I suggest that we continue to attempt to avoid him, if only to avoid the inconvenience that it might cause regarding the recovery of your Clan. However..."

And he lifted a hand, and watched his own pale pink skin growing, "This is his territory. I'm sure that he could find us easily enough should he truly care to, we're hardly insignificant presences."

"I agree," Raziel said somberly. "My only hope is that he is ... distracted enough at the moment that our actions will seem only a part of the greater chaos." Raziel's own death would have brought a great deal of strife between the Clans, he knew--and Kain had been reclusive even before his execution.

"...I am not unfamiliar with the concept of self-sacrifice." Tarrant knew what he would do in the future, too, and for much of the same reasons-- the preservation of things greater than himself

We've secured your release from that prison... the tampering of Haven can be of benefit, sometimes. But here... Power though I may be, I am not infalliable. It would be preferable to not have to fail you, and have you returned back to this world's wheel, take from you your hard-won freedom, and deliver you to It."

" ... what are you saying?" Raziel said slowly. Was the Power truly offering some manner of ... respite from his fate? Or was this another trick? "The worlds have to be recreated as they were, correct?"

"From your memories," Tarrant agreed.

Raziel frowned. "You cannot remove the Reaver from Nosgoth--nor me from the Reaver. Not without unravelling the skein of history." That, at least, he was sure of. "Given all that, do you intend to destroy Nosgoth to preserve my freedom?" As much as he wanted it, he would not pay that price ...

Tarrant forced himself to sit up, to trace complex patterns on the ground with a sharp-ended rock; his flesh split and bled anew. "Do you know what a fractal is? Everything is an infinite iteration of something else, a replica, identical but different. They split from the original. Zoom in closer, move far away, each pattern repeats itself."

Tarrant looked up with eyes that were once more clear, cracked silver. Raziel's face was reflected in each shard of his pupils.

"Your soul has already been split. When we removed you from your timeline, a new iteration of Raziel was born. That is who sits here now. If you choose to return to your Reaver -- and while you are here, the possibility exists -- that is possible, but if you choose to continue your new existence as you are, that is also possible.

"You were given freedom, Raziel, true freedom from your future sacrifice-- a new body, a new future-- in exchange for a temporary incarceration in Haven. Was this never explained to you in full?"

"No ..." Raziel said, looking at the patterns and frowning. "It was not. But ... I do not understand. You are saying that there is--or will be--another 'me' to inhabit the Reaver? How could that be?" It was an uncomfortable thought--that there could be multitudes of Raziels, and that one's freedom could be gained in exchange for another's imprisonment ....

"It is you who are there. It is you who are here. Can you remember your future, mer Raziel, beyond perhaps the brief glimpses of divination? Each iteration is an evolution of the original." Tarrant drew again, one particle splitting off into many.

"The act of observation influences the path that any given thing will take. Each word that I say, action that I take, splits off into a multitude of futures. This is the one that we both perceive. Yours is the one that you perceive. You have simply now been made conscious of this fact."

Raziel frowned, obviously struggling with the alien concepts; though not as much as he would have before his time spent with the Time Guardian. "If that is so ..." he said slowly, "Then the 'me' that is here and now must still decide to re-enter the Reaver, or the world of my future would still be condemned, would it not?"

"At that moment--" Tarrant stated, and he set the stone down and cupped both hands together. In them a cold, blue-white flame manifested. "--You may choose to enter the Reaver, walk away, or do both." And he separated his hands, each of them taking half of the flame.

"You aren't bound by one future and only one future, nothing is."

"...." Raziel stared at him a moment, but Tarrant appeared to be perfectly serious.

"...I do not understand," he finally said evenly. "You say that each moment, each decision I make, there emerges another Raziel who chooses differently. That may all be well and good, but I have to live with my choices--and all your talk of these myriad futures does little to change mine. I either choose to re-enter the Reaver, and save Nosgoth--or I choose my freedom, and damn it. This fancy of yours that all these other futures exist equally ... it makes no difference to *me* in the end."

Tarrant sighed faintly. He struggled to his knees, and then crawled forward until he reached a thicket of bushes. A flicker of magic ripped the mass from the ground, revealing something that was not evident above-- it was one plant, long runners giving rise to a new bush, and then another, and another.

"One seed grew one plant. From one plant came many of them, but they're still the same plant. If I cut each off, are they individuals, when they are still born from the same root? Or are they the same plant? It's not 'fancy' or 'either-or'. You, as a Chosen, are the beneficiary of advanced knowledge. You, in having been forced to endure this, also are entitled to certain privileges."

Raziel regarded the plant doubtfully. He understood the point Tarrant was trying to make; he just was not sure if he believed it. It seemed ... a very convenient philosophy, to believe that no matter what one's choices or one's mistakes, there would always be future in which another would save you from them ...

"I shall think on what you have said," he said finally.

Tarrant crawled back, and then fell sideways. The plant fell, too, with a rustle and a thump.

The neocount, at least, seemed to be doing better. His face was nearly whole, as were his hands. Those were the parts of himself that he favored most; the rest of them, hidden away, oozed and bled into his clothes.

Tarrant's continued weakness spurred Raziel to ask, "Will more blood speed your healing?"

"Is weakening yourself further wise, with Elder Kain on the horizon and Baby Kain running around without a leash?" Tarrant's tone was downright acidic.

Raziel tilted his head. "I *do* carry blood glyphs, if they will suffice. Otherwise, I suppose I must rely upon your self-control, will I not?" he shot back.

Tarrant smiled faintly; it caused his skin to crack and bleed, though he never flinched.

After a moment of silence, Raziel shrugged and pulled two blood glyphs from the air and tossed them on the furs. They would convey only minor healing effects, but ... perhaps they would replace some of the blood Tarrant was undoubtedly burning in order to restore himself. And if the neocount wanted Raziel's blood instead--then he would have to break his silence and ask.

Tarrant didn't. He wouldn't stoop to asking for blood.

He just drank down the contents of those vials with hunger he couldn't quite control. He set down the small bottles carefully when he was done, and then lay down to allow his body to continue to repair itself.

The pace of healing accelerated. Soon enough, some of the damage to his clothing began to vanish, too, and the gore on him was banished as soon as the skin beneath it was whole.

The silence lasted some little time, and night fell swiftly on the heels of an awe-inspiring sunset that painted the sky in all the shades of visera. Kain was gone for an hour, and then two, though the vampires had flown over a small farming community not five miles distant.

Lightning flickered from the lowering clouds, some miles to the east. The contact, when it came, was tightly controlled... but laced beneath the sending was confusion, fury, and pain. _Raziel. Know you an 'Anani'?_

Raziel was on his feet in a movement too fast to be seen. "Anani?" he said aloud without thinking. But the pain underlying Kain's Whisper gave him pause, even as his heart leapt within his chest. _I knew one ... he was my firstborn. Kain, what--where are you? What is happening?_ How could his Sire be gone for such a short time and *still* find trouble?

Tarrant's gaze slitted open, and fixed on Raziel. He sat up, and this time his movements were much more free. Darkness had brought with it renewed strength.

Silence reigned. The thread of communication cut off, and was not re-initiated.

 _Kain._ Raziel waited a moment, then two. _KAIN!_

He turned on his heel to face Tarrant. "Kain has managed to find trouble," he said baldly. "Can you fly? If not, can you defend yourself if you remain?" He did not wish to leave the neocount unprotected, but he could not stay here while Kain was inperiled. It took everything he had simply to remain long enough to ask.

Tarrant's form slowly dissolved in a torrent of blue flame, reforming into the shape which he preferred for flight-- that giant night-bird. It dripped blood, it shed feathers, but its mad red eyes blazed strongly.

It took to the air, waiting for Raziel.

Raziel did not waste any further words. He took to the air in a flurry of wingbeats, flying upward through the branches and into the night sky with every ounce of speed he was capable of. Kain's last Whisper had come from the east, and Raziel arrowed through the air, scanning the ground for any signs of battle, trying to feel the pulse of the younger vampire's aura.

Raziel spotted a handful of horses first, the massive warbeasts moving rapidly, as if spooked, which was rare for their breed. The battlefield itself was not difficult to locate.

The view from the air was... disconcerting. A handful of trees, split and charred and set aflame, lit the scene luridly. Blackened and blasted, bodies lay scattered through the blood-painted grass, most of them stirring, some of them not. A dozen humans huddled together off to one side -- they were unbound save for narrow collars around their necks, but one other was thoroughly tied and lay nearby. The larger group of humans, perhaps oddly, made no move to unbind the last man, nor to escape.

Kain's hair was a splash of white upon the ground, his form laying prone. A long pike stood at an angle from the center of his chest. One of several vampires still upon their feet hefted a heavy axe, and stalked towards the paralyzed fledgling.

With a snarl, Raziel folded his wings and dived, dropping like a hawk out of the sky. The axe-wielder had little warning; Raziel hit him at full speed, talons extended, knocking him several yards away from Kain's prone form. Raziel landed in a crouch nearby, fangs bared and wings mantled, and drew his sword.

"Touch him and die."

Tarrant plummeted, and he backwinged to a stop above Kain. His claws wrapped tightly around that pike, and with a mighty heave, he wrested the thing upwards.

The struck vampire tumbled backwards, twisting to his feet with inhuman grace, with the agility of a creature that was extraordinarily fast and balanced even for vampire-kind. He flexed his claws and rounded on Raziel...

And froze.

The activity in the fallow field ground to a halt. Even those vampire blinded by char or injuries could still detect the field of power surrounding their elders, and now they could sense...

The silence was broken by a scream of unadulterated rage. The instant the pikehead cleared Kain's chest, he was upon his feet. One hand snapped out, caught the haft of the spear, and snapped it in twain. Leading with the impromptu stake, Kain assaulted the closest being present, spitting out the words to spawn magic to sever the bird-creature's soul from its body.

Even as near as he was, Raziel had only a split second to react.

 _KAIN! STAND DOWN!_

What was normally a mere thread of mental communication was now more a purely mental bellow, with all the force of Raziel's mind and the roiling aura of an enraged elder behind it. He threw the words at his sire like weapons, his temper stretched thin by the mistakes of the day and the enemies that surrounded them.

In his frenzy, Kain had not the capacity to shield his mind properly, if perhaps at all. The bellow was shocking, and Kain lost the tenuous thread of magic he already could only just manage -- the spell fizzled, decaying into nothing. Even the blow was tempered, as Kain instinctively twisted away in response to the order. But will all the power of Kain's fury and strength behind it, the stabbing motion was impossible to pull entirely.

The wave of Raziel's aura had another effect upon the vampires surrounding them. Every one -- every one capable of standing, in any case -- fell to their knees. Far more intense though it was, Raziel's aura of power was not far different from theirs -- each of the vampires 'felt' like a buoyant electricity, like miniature black suns on the rise.

Tarrant's avian body absorbed the blow, and a gout of fresh blood lashed over the younger vampire's face.

He wrenched himself away and landed just out of range, the stake lodged in his side-- not his heart, thanks to Kain's sideways twist. Shifting to a human form, he tore the thing out with his own hands.

The splash of fresh blood was searing in its intense cold. Kain staggered back with a hiss, swiping the fluid away with the back of his hand and scrubbing it away on tufts of grass. Despite the warmth of the summer night, hoarfrost formed quickly on the wetted vegetation.

Once able to see properly, Kain... blinked, his fang-baring grimace slowly fading. His gaze swept Tarrant and his new injuries, the (in some cases, still-smoking) band of vampires, and Raziel himself, clearly trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened.

"...Lord... Raziel?" One of the kneeling vampires whispered.

Tarrant just looked on, resting quietly in the grass.

Still poised to leap--on Kain, or any other attackers, or anything that moved, quite frankly--Raziel watched long enough to make sure the younger vampire had returned to some semblance of sanity.

At that name, however, he stiffened, and turned. "Who are ..." The vampire--was both familiar and not. That face was hauntingly familiar, and the aura that all of Kain's attackers bore was unmistakable. "...Cyrus? You are ... Cyrus, are you not?"

"I... yes. It cannot..." Cyrus swallowed hard. His eyes were wide upon Raziel's wings, the 'great honor' the clan had witnessed but once before...

One of the youngest -- for he still bore five fingers -- and most injured vampires, his body scorched and blackened, broke first. Quaking, the fledgling scrambled to his feet and limped towards Raziel. _"Sire!"_

Catching the fledgling as the younger vampire half-fell at his feet, Raziel fell to one knee, studying that upturned face as charred hands wrapped around his wrists. "Yes ..." he said, half to himself. "You are one of mine ..." Though not a familiar face. Doubtless too low in the ranks to have had much contact with his lord ... "Tell me your name."

"Caleb, sire," whispered the fledge. Foolish as fledglings often were, he should have been more suspicious, but the only emotion that his scorched countenance revealed was awe.

Tarrant forced himself to stand. Frost covered the broken spear, the vegettion around him where his blood had fallen. Slowly, he walked towards Kain.

Certain revelations might make things... complicated.

Low murmurs passed between the other vampires -- whispers, some of them shaking their heads, others rubbing at their eyes, as if they were to blame for this apparition. Words like 'risen' and 'resurrection' were murmured, too low for any sense less finely attuned than a vampire's hearing to catch.

The Razielim were not a sorry lot -- quite. Their clothing was threadbare in places, their armor dented and no longer brilliantly polished. But they had not lost the pride and strength long ingrained in them as Razielim... yet.

"It is a trick, an apparition sent by Kain," snarled one of the blackened vampires, perhaps too in pain to adequately mind his tongue. Clansmen rarely spoke of Kain directly by his given appellation -- one might as well refer to God Himself by name.

"What?" Kain demanded, his still-clouded gaze swiveling to glare across the kneeling assemblage. Languages had changed in two thousand years, and though he understood that his own name had been mentioned, only one or two of the other words made sense.

Ignoring Kain's indignant confusion--there was little he could do for it at the moment anyway--Raziel disengaged the fledgling's clutching fingers and rose to his feet, wings still half-spread. "If you think me an apparition, then come. Try to best me--if you can," he said with silken menace. Razielim or not, he was not about to let such disrespect stand!

"Be still," Tarrant said evenly to Kain. "His clan's doubting his existence, and for good reason. Your continued impetuous actions will be of no assistance."

"What? Why?" Kain demanded. Raziel had only been swept away to Haven, after all. Though his clan would surely be in turmoil after their clan lord's execution, surely they'd not take issue with Raziel himself...

"So I shall," said the vampire, climbing to his feet. "I am Madai, of the Razielim, and _I witnessed Lord Raziel's death._ You cannot be he." He pulled a long, ornate-topped pike from the hesitantly resistant hands of one of the nearby kneeling vampires. Two of Madai's own fledglings, Timeus and Ira, if Raziel remembered aright, stood as well, their loyalties to their own sire superseding the evidence of their own senses.

Raziel did not draw his blade, nor grab any of the other weapons that lay scattered upon charred earth. He simply stood where he was, spreading his hands out open to his sides. "Why am I not surprised that you would require proof, Madai? Come at me, then. I shall carve the evidence of my return upon your flesh." He did not remember Madai's presence at his execution--but then, he had been blinded by pain and betrayal, with little time to see anything but what lay before him.

Tarrant simply translated what was said for Kain, so that he might draw his own conclusions.

Madai and his brood had trained together for centuries, had spent the last year outmaneuvering foes far greater than they in strength and number, with all the intellect and speed demanded of a Razielim. Now, they moved with exquisite agility, despite their recent wounds, the pair of fledges darting ahead, providing ample distraction for their more powerful sire. Timeus bore a shield and trident, Ira a longsword and dirk, all the weapons adapted for a vampire's strength. The pair of them lunged at Raziel, while Madai breathed words over his halberd, wreathing the spearhead in lightning.

The other vampires in the fallow field scattered, carrying or dragging their injured, as well as the humans, away from potential involvement.

As fast as they were, Raziel was still faster. His lips pulled back in a humorless, feral smile as he dived low under Tiemeus's first slash. The two fledglings moved well, fighting as a unit; Ira moved in immediately, stabbing downward viciously and giving Raziel no time to return the blow. Raziel did not even try to dodge that stab--raising his arm, he let the blade rebound off his armored skin and followed through with a vicious backhand that sent both blade and vampire flying.

Caleb, dismayed, turned to find the one who might best recognize the founder of their clan.

Quickly enough, willfully ignoring his grievous injuries, he set to looking for Anani amongst those vampires who had still not yet stirred.

The field erupted in a flurry of blows, too fast for the mortal eye to follow. Ira was thrown from the fray with a shout -- his neck was not snapped, not quite, but even so the warrior was stunned. The second fledgling, Timeus, tried to catch Raziel's talons upon the fork of his trident, bashing with the spiked shield he carried.

A few swift leaps left Madai with a clear path to Raziel's back, just for a split second. Bounding forward, he swung back the halberd's blade and twisted, hard, the weapon hissing as it scythed through the air for the back of Raziel's neck.

Kain tensed, lifting a hand to call upon a shielding spell.

 _Don't,_ Tarrant's voice whispered in Kain's mind, along the thread that their shared blood had created. _Our assistance means his apparent weakness._

The prickling of instinct and the brush of Madai's aura was all the warning Raziel needed--as both vampires struck, Raziel was suddenly no longer there.

Within a split second he had leaped--straight upward with blinding speed, wings spreading outward to carry him clear. Both Midai and Timeus had committed themselves to their attacks, lunging forward at full speed, and now their weapons had no target--except for each other.

Madai was strong enough to turn his blow, the enchanted blade of his weapon burying itself deep in the soft earth and discharging its pent-up energies with a hollow -whump- that flung dust and clods of dirt into the air.

Timeus was not quite so agile. His trident stabbed solidly into Madai's upper arm, the barbed tine sinking deep, and the rim of his shield crunched into his sire's face with a snap of armored cartilage.

To the edge of the battlefield, Caleb nearly stumbled across his own sire. Anani lay inert amidst a wide circle of blasted grass and low shrubs. He had been thoroughly scorched, but the worst of the injuries was a slowly-healing indentation to his skull. His eyes slit open when Caleb laid hands upon him.

"Our sire has returned," Caleb said to Anani, shaking him in his urgency. "Madai and Timeus disbelieve that it is he... they believe that it is an apparition come to deceive us! But I looked into his eyes! That noble countenance, his prowess in battle... It must be him!"

Young yet, more familiar with tales of Raziel than the elder himself, the fledge seemed nonetheless devoutly convinced.

Raziel didn't stay in the air--he was far too vulnerable there to spells, flays, and other such nuisances for his liking. Landing, he took advantage of the distracted afforded him by Timeus' mis-aimed strike and struck, talons punching through armor and into the other vampire's back, shattering ribs. Dark blood flew, and with a low growl Raziel tore his hand free, flinging Midai to one side in the same motion.

Midai struck the ground with a wet and slurping sound, the tine of the trident ripping away much of his shoulder, blood and viscera pooling even as his body sought to make repairs. The damage was simply too great, and he lay insensate, too much in shock even for the bloodrage.

Timeus stared slack-jawed for a single moment. He took a step back, his trident and shield clattering from his grasp. The fledgling began to sink to his knees.

On the scorched grass, Anani's shattered skull was little aided by Caleb's urgent shaking. He managed to lift a heavy, three-clawed hand, trying to bat the fledgling away. "Retrieve a human, boy," Anani managed, the words emerging as a disjointed merging of mental Whisper and auditory sound.

Caleb rushed off to do just that, dragging a stunned victim back within bare moments.

Still growling low in his throat, Raziel's bloodied talons flashed out and caught Timeus by the throat. Holding the man pinned in the air with one hand, Raziel snarled, "I cannot fault your loyalty to your sire--but thus far your judgement has left something greatly to be desired."

Timeus managed nothing more than a grinding little whimper.

Ira stirred slowly, and now looked up... only to find his brother in Raziel's claws, and his sire in a pool of his own dark lifeblood. Ira dropped his weapons as well, scrambling to kneel. "Lord Raziel, please... he did not..." he managed, unable to find the words to plead his and his brother's case -- quite likely, there simply were none. To assail one's own clanlord....

Anani's nostrils flared as he caught the scent of living blood and fear, but he was unable to take the offering Caleb had brought him. "Here..." he managed, likely making little sense. Caleb had witnessed other vampires press the throat of fresh prey to a wounded vampire's throat before, even if he had not been taught to do it himself.

Caleb did as he had been told. His sense of observation had always been keen!

Still holding Timeus in the air, Raziel levelled a murderous glare upon the rest of the vampire assemblage. "Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge me? Any other who does not believe that I am Raziel?"

Anani sank fangs into the offering, drinking quickly, greedily. New skin formed quickly, though concussion and other injuries to his head would take longer. But that word cut through the haze. "'Ziel'?" Anani pushed the body off him, disengaging his fangs. "Finish that," he instructed Caleb as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, for the human would bleed out, and there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good human.

"Who's... making enough noise to wake the dead -- didn't I tell you..." Anani stalked unsteadily towards the combatants, clearly intending to crack some heads together if he must, in order to end whatever argument the raiding party had gotten into this bloody time.

It took him a moment to get a clear look at Raziel. Anani stopped, pressed the back of a heavy-taloned hand to the side of his head, and mouthed the word he thought he'd heard... "Raziel?"

Relieved, Caleb tended to his own hunger. Anani was wise-- the situation would, hopefully, sort itself out.

Kain had been right. Even under the dirt, the scorched skin and the blood, Raziel had no problem recognizing his firstborn. "...Anani," he breathed, feeling the draw of that aura, so closely kin to his own. It was a gift he had scarcely dared to hope for.

He dropped Timeus like a bag of meal and strode to the other vampire, taking his measure, reaching out to clasp an uninjured shoulder roughly. "Anani--I am glad you yet live."

"I... _Raziel_?" Anani lifted a bloody hand to Raziel's face, touching ever so gingerly, just making certain... but oh, those features, and the press of power that had been the be-all and end-all of his world when he had first awoken to the night... "How is this... possible?"

So awash in conflicting emotion--gratitude, triumph, anger, weariness--that he hardly knew what he felt, Raziel stroked a hand over that jaw, down the neck and shoulder, assuring himself of his firstborn's solidity. "It is a long and convoluted story, and this is not the place for such things." He set his hands on the other man's shoulders, giving them a little shake. "This was not how I wished us to meet, but I cannot regret it. I have come back for you and the others--how many still live?"

Anani likewise smoothed his hand down to grasp Raziel's heavy steel pauldron, where perhaps the trembling of his wrist might not be so obvious. He bowed his head, sorting through his thoughts, brushing aside his questions and his jubilation. "My Lord. We are a handful more than twenty-one hundred." He swallowed, suddenly unable to meet Raziel's gaze. It was a loss of nearly four thousand.

A spasm of pain he couldn't hide showed in Raziel's face, and his grip tightened reflexively. "So few after only a year?" How could his Razielim, his proud warriors, fall so swiftly? He was very afraid he knew the answer. _Kain._ "Do you lead all twenty-one hundred? Or have they been scattered across the land?"

Anani nodded. "Hours after your... after the... within hours, an assault was launched upon the Sanctuary of the clans, led by Gershom and Zimri." Gershom, Raziel's forth-born, was a quiet bear of a man and normally of temperate judgment, but could be roused into a killing temper. Zimri, Raziel's eighteenth, was a spitfire who had clawed her way up the ranks over centuries. Between them, they had commanded over a thousand men -- a very sizable army, in terms of vampire forces.

That army had not been heard from, since the assault.

"The others... are scattered. I command four hundred eleven, of which this is a foraging party." Anani continued. "About half are warriors foremost, the rest...." No Razielim lacked fighting ability, of course, but some were better poets or craftsmen than they were warriors. "Several groups of your forces were launched against the Dumahim and Turielim. I and others sought to hold your citadel, but in that too, I...."

"If finding them proves difficult, I can track their essences--" Tarrant stated quietly from his place beside Kain. "--now that I have tasted of your blood."

Raziel nodded, his attention shifting a little to include Tarrant and Kain once more. He did not know how the Power would achieve such a feat, but questioning could wait until later, when they had both more time and privacy.

"The citadel is gone?" Raziel asked, confirming what he had suspected. "I ... had feared as much. Still, the castle is stone and mortar. The clan is what is important." His grip tightened, his face grim. "We shall start with those you command. From there we will regroup and find what others we can."

Kain looked to Tarrant, going suddenly quite still. If the man could seek out, or otherwise hold power over a vampire's descendants, simply from tasting of the sire... then there was a great deal more here to be concerned with than seemed to meet Raziel's eye.

Anani nodded. "There is a great deal to tell you. Let us move to the main encampment. You there, get the wounded up and moving --" he gestured a handful of fledglings to those still immobile, including Madai. Anani glanced to Kain and Tarrant, tilting his head with an elder's considering wisdom. "These are... clansmen?" Anani did not specify which clan. He had 'met' that fledgling sorcerer, and he was no Razielim. As for the blond vampire....

Tarrant did not look sidelong at Kain; his gaze was on Raziel. But his attention was still somewhat on the younger vampire; Kain's wariness was unmistakable.

He let Raziel do the talking, however. He knew best how to handle his own Clan.

"They are my travelling companions," Raziel said in answer to Anani's question. Looking wry, he added, "Also a very long story. But they are allied with me and my purposes. This is Gerald Tarrant-" he waved at the blond neocount, "-and this is Masiosare. Likewise-" he shifted into an older form of the language so that Kain might more easily understand, knowing Anani at least would still comprehend. "This is Anani, my firstborn."

It was a measure of Kain's shock that he did not reply first.

Anani nodded politely, concealing surprise at the language Raziel was forced to switch to. Why would any young vampire require such an outdated dialect? But he had not maintained his place by questioning Raziel in public. "A pleasure to greet you on more temperate grounds," Anani said. Perhaps the man was a Razielim, created during Raziel's absence... though that too made little sense. The fledgling had already evolved claws.

Kain grit his teeth. "It is my honor," he grated. Raziel's first born, and doubtless the first in his regard.

Humans were being brought to the wounded; this time only the mortals' wrists were offered. Some few fledglings who had fed particularly well, or who had not been wounded, fed the injured from their own arteries.

Tarrant left the other vampires to figure out whom in the food chain stood where.

There were vampires and their fledges in need of extreme repair-- he could not precisely offer healing, but the worst of the damage could be burned away with coldfire, and the flesh shaped into a workable semblance of normalcy until their own faculties could heal the rest.

It was not pleasant -- the sensation was of crawling leeches over one's skin, and from his hands emanated a cold, sickly, purple aura -- but it was very effective.

The first unconscious vampire Tarrant laid hands on awoke with shocking suddenness and a strangled cry, bucking under the burning cold as it pulled skin and muscle forcibly together. Some of the others nearby wheeled, weapons at the ready--with one of the remaining elders already beginning to move, only to stop short as he caught sight of Raziel watching impassively.

"Hold. Let him do his work." And he continued watching, until he had assured himself as best he could that Tarrant was only mending the fledgling and nothing more. The Razielim did not look happy at the command; only weaklings generally subjected themselves to the services of the Malachim fleshcrafters. But they heeded their lord, even as vampires snarled and struggled reflexively, fingers clawing into the dirt under Tarrant's agonizing touch.

Kain watched, silently, considering. Kain had caused the majority of the wounds now being healed -- but Raziel was not offering his own blood, and therefore perhaps t'wound be inappropriate were he to offer what little he had to spare. The Razielim were certainly no mean fighters, and had it not been for his store of magics, he would have been cut to ribbons within seconds.

Fledglings had the task of binding the humans' wounds, and herding them all along. The humans moved docilely, if a bit unsteadily, evidently well-accustomed to life as walking meals.

With finely honed training, the group was on the move within minutes, scouts afront, followed by a vanguard. Madai, along with some few of the more seriously wounded, the youngest fledges, and the humans, were grouped to the center. From the look of Madai and his brood, it seemed they knew full well they had not yet reaped the full consequences of their actions. A rearguard of warriors trailed the group.

The Razielim moved fast, even hampered by so many humans. Anani kept close to Raziel. Therefore, so too did Kain, shouldering his way between far more powerful, three-clawed vampires to stride along Raziel's other side. The elder cast the fledgling a sidelong glance.

Tarrant kept pace with Raziel and Kain, though he drew his cloak -- when had that materialised? -- closer to himself, covered his face, his body.

He had not fully recovered, had been injured again, had spent energy healing others... but weakness was unacceptable, his own pride refused to allow him to show it.

The small group moved more slowly than Raziel would have liked, due to the humans, but they rallied and fell out in good order soon enough. He assessed the party as they travelled, noting those he recognized and those he did not. This must have been a raiding party; there were a disporportionate number of Razielim skirmishers making up the core of the group.

Kain's insistence on remaining close also did not go unnoticed, and Raziel found himself both amused and somewhat relieved by it. It seemed that every time he allowed his sire to venture off on his own, Kain promptly flung himself headfirst into the nearest trouble. Far better to have the younger vampire nearby, where at least Raziel could haul him bodily out of whatever trouble he had found.

"How far is your encampment?" he asked Anani quietly. "And what have the scouts reported as to the disposition of the other Clans?"

"Fifteen kilometers," said Anani, "we have been utilizing the network of canyons near Ashwater as concealment, and a haven of sorts." The human city was one of Raziel's prosperous lowland holdings, always producing several hundred hale men and women as taxation in any given year. But it bordered a jagged labyrinth of caves and canyons, which only the Razielim knew well.

"The surrounding regions are still nominally under our control, though we must constantly fend off scouts from the other Lords," Anani continued, nodding slightly in Kain's direction -- evidently, they'd thought him one of those scouts. "Contact with other groups of Razielim is... sporadic." His mouth twisted. By rights, he should have been strong enough, capable enough, to hold the clan together after Raziel's execution. But individual generals had their own notions of the correct course of action, and rather than risk civil war, Anani had let them go. "Turiel's brood controls the majority of the north. Dumah has been more aggressive -- he himself is in residence at your citadel, and warparties scour the realm. Melchiah has taken three of the border towns, but his control is not firm, and... we have an understanding with certain of the Melchiahim. In any case, he and Rahab are at war over the ruins at Timber-on-Naze." Nothing was said of Zephon. Now that the Razielim networks of spies was all but useless, there was no real way to know what the clanlord might be planning.

"I am not as concerned with the territory taken from us," Raziel said evenly as they walked. "Other than the need for defense and supplies. My purpose is to regather the Razielim, and leave these killing grounds." Admittedly he would be taking them to new killing grounds instead; but he clung to the hope that they could still find sanctuary among the Ancients. He gave Anani a sharp glance. "What manner of understanding do you have with the Melchahim?"

"If necessary," Tarrant murmured, "I can Work an Obscuring to cover our passage as we search. This is another's territory, however, and the power here is not precisely under my heel; whether the Unnamed's... gift... outweighs the claim of the present owner of this land's is anyone's guess."

Anani explained as they walked. Melchiah's lands bordered Raziel's to the south, encompassing what had once been nupraptor's retreat. A small army of the elder Melchiahim had been dispatched to 'conquer' some few of those wealthy townships located just within Raziel's lands. For the moment, the other Clanlords had not contested his claim -- Dumah and Turiel were squabbling, and both doubtless had their hands full with Zephon's spies. Even Dumah did not like to fight a war on three fronts. And Anani's small forces had not the strength to hold those townships against the Dumahim, even if they managed to repulse an army of Melchiahim.

So those dozen or so border towns technically belonged to Melchiah... and yet, the flow of supplies and slaves to the Razielim had not halted. Melchiahim patrols turned a blind eye to the movement of raiding parties like Anani's. "Indeed, we have two cases of small foraging groups being caught by the Dumahim... only to be revived afterwards by Melchiahim healers." That last was spoken with a distaste Anani could not entirely conceal. Though the Razielim could ill-afford the loss of any warrior... to be defeated and staked for the sun and then *rescued* by the weakest of Kain's brood? It was shameful.

"Ah, so that is their game ..." Raziel mused, the grimness of his expression softening slightly. He cast a glance back at Tarrant. "As much as I am grateful that Rahab and Melchiah have found ... other ways to occupy their clans, I fear their ploy has unknowingly placed another obstacle in our path. For we must go through Timber-on-Naze to reach our goal. We may have to take up your offer if it comes to that, Tarrant."

Tarrant inclined his head. "It would not be unexpected if you should. I was sent to facilitate your efforts, after all, even given the occasional personal... inconveniences."

Like being roasted, discriminated against, isolated, insulted, nearly left for dead... the usual, when roaming about on a feudal world.

Damn feudal worlds.

A small party peeled off from the main group, and headed off in the direction the horses had fled from the scene of the battle. They would collect those still hale... and remove the saddles and bags from the badly wounded before turning them loose. If strong enough, those animals would survive and improve the wild herds.

"Through... the ruins at Timber-on-Naze?" asked Anani hesitantly. Beyond, there was nothing but the swampy lowlands of Rahab's lands, and then the coastal mountains around the old site of Meridian, and then... nothing but ocean.

Kain snarled briefly at Tarrant's pointed comment. Inconveniences, indeed. The neocount had been appointed as spy and chaperone, and nothing more.

"Yes," Raziel confirmed, ignoring the byplay. "Once we have gathered what remains of the clan, our final goal will be the ruins of the Sarafan fortress there." He gave Anani an assessing look, knowing his firstborn was likely burning with questions he dared not ask. "The Empire no longer has a place for us. I will explain further once we have rejoined the others, but for now trust that there is a method to my madness, Anani."

"Of course, Sire," said Anani, and meant it. Raziel had been resurrected, reborn. There was no place in all the world not touched by the Empire -- and that mattered not at all. If Raziel had led the way back to the Lake of the Dead, few would have argued, and certainly not Raziel's firstborn. Anani nodded, and spoke instead of the layout of troops, of forces and supplies.

Once the horses were returned, the party was able to move far faster. The vampires broke into an easy, ground-eating lope, while the humans were mounted two at a time upon the massive warhorses -- a vampire holding each animal's head so that it did not turn upon its frightened riders.

The canyons north of Ashwater were jagged constructions of dull gray basalt, and winding through them was a slow affair. From the crags above, a horn sounded, just once, announcing their presence. Even once they moved in view of the encampment, the tents were difficult to spot -- they were low, and their fabric was camouflaged in patches of dark and light. Vampires emerged like shadows from between the twisted rocks, staring at the returning group, whispers beginning to spread as the sharper-eyed elders caught sight of Raziel.

Anani gestured at the small gathering. "Welcome, Sire," he said, with only a trace of wryness.

Tarrant rode, too, conserving his muchly-spent strength. His mount was black, the prettiest of the lot, and he sat in the saddle like one born to it.

No vampire held his bridle; he had touched his restive mount's forehead once, for a moment, and from that moment it had displayed only calm obedience.

As the others greeted their sire, he looked on in distant silence. The sword at his hip, his finery, were enough to mark him as at least an unusual sort of slave.

It was not in Raziel to chafe at the time it took to proceed on foot, despite his own personal wish to take to the air once more; leaving his clan and the humans behind was never an option. Still, he was relieved when they entered the narrow canyon, and he nodded his approval at the camp's concealment. Proud warriors the Razielim might be, but that did not make them stupid.

A susurrus of sound began the moment they came into view of the sentries--vampire whispers, and Whispers, far below the level of human hearing, audible to Raziel only as scraps of words. _" ... what ... -an it be? ... -the lord. A ghost? ...."_ And his name, over and over. _" ...-aziel. Raziel? Lord Raziel ..."_ Gradually the normal activity of the camp was silenced, the Razielim appearing from the shadows, gathering together with fear and hope in their eyes.

Another elder, his heavy-planed face seamed with scars, made his way to the forefront, the lesser vampires falling away to either side. Raziel recognized him instantly: Goran, his twelfth fledgeling and possibly his most valued general.

There was a look of both suspicion and shock on that face, as if Goran did not dare believe what was before his eyes, even with the evidence of his Sire's aura pressing down upon him. " ... Lord Raziel?" he asked hoarsely, and the surrounding Razielim fell silent and still, waiting for the answer.

Raziel inclined his head gravely, mastering his emotions with difficulty. "It is. I am glad to see you again, Goran."

Goran swallowed heavily, momentarily unable to speak.

The lesser vampire crowded closer, unable to exactly maintain a respectful distance, especially as those at the back tried to nudge their way forward.

One of the horses carrying the slaves spooked with an angry squeal, rearing and depositing its unsteady riders upon the ground as it lashed out at the nearby Razielim, lifting the unfortunate fledge holding the animal's bridle entirely off the ground. The horse's scream was echoed furiously by other mounts, evidently corralled in a well-concealed box canyon, just to the left. Ducking flailing hooves, an elder dragged the horse back to all fours with brute force. Though clearly reluctant to leave their Lord's side, a number of the raiding party's vampires gathered up the wailing humans and hauled them off in one direction, while the mounts were taken in another. Tarrant, and his mount, were left alone -- the fledges who might've been tasked with helping him dismount were far too distracted to pay him much heed.

Newcomers quickly filled the gaps in the crowd around Raziel. "Sire," breathed one, at last daring to reach out to touch the edge of Raziel's cloak.

Kain looked on. Aside from Tarrant's magic, he had sensed no magery involved in handling the horses -- how very strange. But even those musings were not distraction enough to keep him from noticing the reactions of the crowd. So many vampires -- many of them greater than Kain, but none of them with auras to rival Raziel's. A certain suspicion began to form.

Tarrant eschewed the fledglings' help anyway. His cloak slipped as he slid from his horse, briefly revealing his battered countenance, his damaged skin. The articulation of his movements seemed somewhat _wrong_ , as if the joints had not healed quite properly, were much too loose.

The ride had sloughed off some of his skin, and his own magic had been too depleted for him to salvage his own pride and make it vanish. Blood remained on the saddle.

His horse remained at his side with unusual calm.

The Neocount looked on as quietly as before, his attention lingering perhaps longest on Kain.

There was a scream from the back of the restive crowd--but equine rather than human or vampire. It was soon followed by the crashing of timbers, and a furious tall bay charged his way into the crowd, kicking and neighing shrilly. A fledgling tried to grab for the stallion's halter, only to be flung to one side with a toss of the creature's head. The other vampires scattered as the horse charged directly at Raziel, chopping downward with his hooves as he came within range.

Blinking in surprise, Raziel dodged to one side in a flicker of inhuman speed as those massive steel-shod hooves pounded into the dirt where he had been standing. Then he had an implacable grip on the stallion's halter, hauling the creature downward with easy strength as he tried to rear once more. "Ho, Kafka--I see you survived as well, you evil, miserable beast," he said, a smile curling his lips upward despite his words. In response the bay stallion snaked his head around and tried to take a chunk out of Raziel's arm, only to receive with a solid punch to the neck for his pains.

Kafka's antics had given Raziel some room, however, and for that he was grateful. He glanced at Anani. "I'm surprised you managed to salvage him once that castle had fallen," he remarked, pleased. Kafka had been his current favored war mount, the latest in one of the most promising bloodlines of Raziel's stables.

Turning his attention to the other assembled Razielim, he raised his voice and announced, "I am Raziel, and I have returned. There are doubtless many questions; they will be answered in time. For now we have much work to do if our clan is to survive." He glanced at Goran. "Gather the elders and bring them before me."

"Does your breeding program need assistance as well?" Tarrant sniffed; whether he meant the vampires or the horses was undoubtedly somewhat ambiguous.

Raziel gave him a quizzical look. "Surely you cannot be frightened of a mere war-horse, Tarrant." He patted the stallion on the shoulder. "Kafka may have few manners, but he has both a singular lack of fear of vampires and a love of the battlefield."

"It's manners," Tarrant murmured, "That seem to be lacking, yes."

The bloodbay cast Tarrant an evil gaze, nostrils flared eagerly at the icy scent of blood. Sixteen hands tall at the withers, Kafka was by no means the largest of the destriers used by vampires in general, nor even by the Razielim, who tended to favor speed and intelligence over brute size. He was, however, nearly as heavily muscled as any of Dumah's living juggernauts, dense with power that rippled under his glossy, scar-crossed hide. His color faded from deep red-brown to a shade reminiscent of dried blood at his hooves. For all his mass, Kafka's agility was visible to one who knew horseflesh -- his heavy hindquarters bespoke the strength to easily coil and spring; to stop, spin, turn or sprint forward.

His teeth bespoke a diet that was not entirely vegetarian.

Nor did Kafka lack for intelligence -- he clearly knew Raziel, remembered him, even after more than a year. More to the point, he knew that Raziel's presence meant being fitted with bladed barding, meant war and the crush of bones under his hooves. He pulled hard at his halter, jaws snapping at the air, shod hooves ringing against the stone underfoot -- always keeping Raziel angled to his right, the side upon which he'd been trained to accept a rider or a lead. When the display of readiness failed to result in the production of saddle and tack, Kafka crossly assaulted a fledgling who had approached just a hair's-breadth too close, kicking out with both sharp-shod hind hooves.

With a deep bow, Goran stepped backwards a neat two strides, then turned and began snapping orders with brutal efficiency, falling back into the old patterns of command his sole outward sign of relief. Anani's lips curved upwards in a smile. "I think that hell itself could not manage Kafka, thus his survival," he said, keeping clear of the stallion which, with laid-back ears, had fixed its malevolent gaze on Tarrant's vapidly placid mount. Anani inclined his head slightly -- "We are not so low on supplies that we cannot spare your surgeon a skin, Lord Raziel." He said nothing regarding Tarrant's byplay with Raziel, though the easy way the younger vampire baited Anani's sire, right here in public, was... all but incomprehensible.

But Tarrant's mount tossed its head and bared its own teeth at Kafka... though whether it was the Power's will, or the horse's own, was in question. Whatever intelligence that it had had before Tarrant had claimed it... Tarrant had no compunctions about tampering with such things.

Had his own former master about doing the same to him?

Even as it returned the other horse's sneer, its flat grinding teeth began to lengthen, sharpen into fangs. Muscles coiled ropily under its skin, like slithering snakes, as the Neocount fiddled with its structure, augmented it with darkmagic, shaped it into powerful perfection.

It was a pointless display of power, better spent on himself, but Tarrant had long favored the intensive breeding and alteration of horseflesh; he refused to be shown up here, of all places.

And his mood was abysmal, given the inconveniences of the day.

Raziel glanced at Tarrant reflexively in response to Anani's suggestion--then stopped short in surprise at the obvious changes worked in the neocount's mount. What had originally been a Razielim charger was now most obviously *not* ... it now seemed far more predator than horse, black and gleaming and vicious. Struck by the animal's change in appearance, it took a moment before Raziel recollected what he had been about to say.

"I do not think a skin will aid Tarrant overmuch, Anani--though he may require more blood as sustenance once we have settled," he said carefully, the answer half a question directed at the Power himself.

"If there are prisoners to be questioned," Tarrant murmured abstractedly, "I could..."

And then he stopped short.

He had been, as he had for much of this trip, watching, watching, watching. Suddenly, the ground erupted around one particularly nondescript vampire, pale serpentlike worms winding 'round and 'round his limbs to bind him in place.

They glowed with cold, sickly purple light.

It was a hungry glow.

The split in Tarrant's attention left him, for a moment, distracted. His mount, now many times more aggressive than usual for its breed -- madder by far than the horses with which Tarrant was accustomed to working, even before his tampering -- utilized that distraction. Its head wrenched up, its leather reigns slithering through Tarrant's blistered hands. The shimmering black stallion lunged for the herd leader.

Kafka met the assault awkwardly with a squeal and a sharp-hoofed kick, rearing as much as he could under Raziel's grip. His efforts earned him a fierce bite to one haunch, long dagger-teeth sinking deep. Kafka tossed his head furiously, cleverly dragging the lead of his halter against the sharp edges of Raziel's claws -- the leather parted with a snap and Kafka ripped himself free of the black horse's teeth. The black had size, speed, power, and possibly intelligence beyond Kafka's. Kafka... had training, and the cunning that came of riding victorious from more battles than the black had even seen.

A flurry of blows and bites were exchanged, sharp-shod hooves gouging glossy hide. Kafka surrendered advantage time and again in favor of angling himself, manuvering -- and then abruptly planted both front hooves and lashed out at Tarrant, a muscular uncoiling of powerful hind legs. He had fought conjurers before, and knew... always kill the mage first.

Tarrant's actions and the subsquent mayhem all occurred within a matter of seconds, and the surrounding crowd dissolved into chaos around the two screaming, fighting stallions. Raziel ducked under a flailing hoof, backing swiftly out of the way--and threw out a hand, casting a Wall around Tarrant as Kafka attacked the man. He stood little chance of separating the two animals short of killing one or both, and he had no idea what Tarrant was trying to do--but he was unlikely to get answers if the neocount's head was bashed in.

Tarrant ignored the horses; Raziel had him protected. His full attention was on the vampire whom he restrained.

"That vampire," he murmured coolly, as chaos raged, "Is not one of you. He's Worked an Obscuring upon himself."

Hooves screeched off the surface of Raziel's shield. Thoroughly bloodied, ears laid back, Kafka snapped at the black's face, and tried to circle, to assail Tarrant from another side. The black twisted, more supple than any living horse should be, and bit into his throat.

"Damnation," Anani growled from nearby Raziel. "Razielim! To me!" Scattered fledges and elders unslung their shields, falling into military order, a phalanx that gathered around Raziel, weapons to hand. Anani might have no real idea what was going on, but between the warring stallions, the surgeon who had just attacked a Razielim, and said Razielim, there were far too many threats to Raziel for his comfort.

"Razielim?" Kain mouthed. His eyes narrowed.

Growling a little under his breath, Raziel's eyes flashed to the vampire Tarrant had accused of subterfuge, to the warring stallions, and then to his firstborn. They would never be able to get matters settled in the midst of this confusion--and breaking the horses apart with ropes and chains would require more time than Raziel was prepared to take. With some regret, knowing they could damage themselves even further, Raziel pulled on the materia he had brought with him once more, casting Sleep on both the embattled warhorses.

Both chargers stopped short, stumbling and shaking their heads--then crumpled where they stood, falling heavily to the earth in an unnatural slumber.

"Tarrant--explain," Raziel snapped, moving to close the distance between them. "What do you mean by that? This is a spy--or a traitor?"

"Such questions shall be asked in due time, I'm sure." Tarrant irritably flicked a clod of earth, kicked up from the blood bay's hooves, from his sleeve.

"Go look him over. Can't you tell what's your bloodline and what isn't?"

The phalanx moved along with Raziel, a ripple of steel and armored muscle. More Razielim rejoined the group, these ones fully armed and shielded, taking the places of their brethren who had not managed to collect weapons before Anani's call to arms.

There were a few gasps of startlement as the animals fell -- Raziel had never utilized such magic before; indeed, mind-affecting spells were not really among the purview of the Razielim at all. The first rank stepped over the twitching pair of horses. Quick orders from Anani detached a handful of younger fledges, who set to prying the black's jaws from Kafka's throat. Blood poured from the deep wound, and young vampires tried to apply pressure to stem the bleeding, while others checked over both horses' legs for breaks.

The bound vampire thrashed in his bonds, desperate to make his escape. Having identified his attacker, he assailed Tarrant directly, unleashing a stunning blast at the mind behind the binding magic.

Tarrant's own mind, old and cold and infinitely versed in such magics, smashed the intrusion aside.

He bored into the spy's own mind, brutally ripping out information with no care for what fragile mush would be left.

Feeling the magicks crackle in the air, Raziel stalked towards the Zephonim, his impromptu guard knowing better than to impede his progress. His nostrils flared as he scented the air--the vampire smelled like one of his own, but ... the taint of that magick, that aura, was both familiar and out-of-place. Blood called to blood ... and this creature was no kin to Raziel. Rather, this was his brother's spawn.

"Zephonim," he snarled, the name an epithet. The pinned vampire writhed and struggled, crying out as his mind crumpled under Tarrant's retaliatory attack.

Spidery layering of suspicion, distrust, webbing going all the way down... the spy's mind was a nest, a morass. Bits of information spooled free like unraveling cocoons -- troop dispositions and morale reports and _Raziel has returned_. The Zephonim's magic dissipated, his form appeared to warp from utter unremarkability into the long limbs and barbed talons of his kind as he writhed on the ground, screaming in his bonds.

And Tarrant's assault triggered... something. Like a spider's web touched by a match, the whole of the assembly... vanished in a glow of ashes. There was literally nothing of the mind remaining, and the spy's thrashing abruptly ceased, the body empty of mind and soul.

"...Automatic self-destruct upon detection?" Tarrant whispered. "That's rather extreme, even if this was just used to conveniently gather information, follow your clan's movements..."

Was that just it?

The Neocount pondered the limited information that still hovered in his own mind, jumbled and frantic, and then shook his head.

His sabre half-drawn, more than a little furious at both the now-dead spy and Tarrant's summary actions, Raziel glanced from the limp body to the neocount. "What did you do, Tarrant? If you have destroyed his mind before we could question him ..." he left the rest unspoken, knowing that the Power would likely laugh at any threats, and unwilling to risk further insolence in front of his clan.

 _"Find out where they are. Report to me and nothing else."_ Tarrant echoed what he had found. _"Raziel has returned."_

"Damnation," Raziel growled. "Can you sense any others who do not belong?"

Tarrant just... looked around, assessing each vampire one by one. "None among the men here."

"That is something, at least." With a final growl, he slammed the sabre back home in its sheath. Then turned and looked at the fallen horses. "Damnation." He would hate to lose Kafka, but the wound in the stallion's neck still leaked blood, despite the fledglings' best attempts to staunch it, and both horses lay awkwardly, crumpled in an unnatural fashion that could only mean other injuries. And they had no time or resources to nurse crippled animals.

Tarrant just shook his head again, and knelt by the horses. He gently -- gently! -- laid hands on one, and then the other, and set to shaping them into wholeness, easing the rage from their minds, their memories of the fight.

"Give them both blood," he whispered... and then he crumpled quietly forward, and lay still.

There seemed to be no end to Tarrant's abilities; but given that he was not just an elder vampire, but also a Power, perhaps that stood to reason. Looking to Anani and Goran, he waved a hand at both the fallen beasts and Tarrant. "Do as he says. Rouse both horses, and feed them blood--keep them separated as well. Especially *that* one." He nodded at Tarrant's altered horse. Until he knew just how carnivorous the creature had become, he was not about to pen it with the others. Despite their breeding, they were still horses--prey at heart, not predators.

"Find a tent for my quarters and take Tarrant to it--carefully. Find the eldest Razielim who is unwounded and able to offer up his blood to aid his healing. Masiosare and I shall follow shortly, after inspecting the camp."

"Masiosare?" Goran queried, and blinked as Anani nodded to the fledge who, fists clenched, circled to crouch near the mind-incinerated spy. He nodded slowly. "As you command, Sire," he said, and arranged for a pair of fledges to retrieve a stretcher. Anani bowed deeply before Raziel and went with them, albeit reluctantly -- but there would be time to express his relief, his exultation, later in private. For the time being, he would carry out his duties -- calling the elders and their men back from their scouting operations, and repairing the surgeon who followed Lord Raziel.

The shieldwall that had surrounded Raziel dissipated as vampires were ordered to assist with the horses. Goran cocked his head, listening. "We should have the remaining elders assembled within the half hour, Sire," he said, standing close and at attention.

"So, Raziel. You are the clanlord of the Razielim, are you not?" Kain grated, running the pad of a fingertip over the barbed cutting edge of the Zephonim's long, hooked, three-fingered talons.


	3. Revelations

It seemed Kain had penetrated one of his secrets, at least. Which was unsurprising, and Raziel had expected such a revelation to happen, though perhaps not in a manner such as this. Glancing about at the chaos of the camp--now evolving into order as Goran and the elders took charge once more--Raziel turned to face Kain. "I am," he affirmed, noting the curious glances of the Razielim around him. Thankfully the age of the dialect that he and Kain were using prevented true understanding for most ... except perhaps Goran, who thankfully was too preoccupied to bridle at a fledgling Kain's challenging tone.

Kain slithered to his feet, and stalked slowly towards Raziel. “And for what cause was the clanlord executed?” he asked. If Raziel had spoken truth, and Kain had helped build this empire... well, there were only a handful of reasons Kain would have seen any vampire slain. If he had founded the laws upon which rested this civilization....

 _That_ , of course, caught Goran’s attention.

Turning on his heel, Goran's hand went reflexively to the hilt of his sword--a heavy, brutal two-handed blade nearly as long as the vampire was tall--as he bristled. "Lord Raziel, this impudence ...!" Raziel silenced him with a single slash of his hand through the air.

"I will deal with this. Do not interfere."

A trickle of a growl escaped the elder vampire, but he stepped back obediently. His hard gaze did not leave Kain for a moment, however. All it would take was one word from Raziel, and the fledgling would regret his impudence!

"Do you remember when you first approached me?" Raziel said with a stony calm. "I asked you if you were prepared for the consequences of your questions, and the answers that I might give. Is your answer still the same?"

Kain could maintain nothing like that calm self-possession. He bared long fangs, ignoring the clear bristling of the powerful aura beside Raziel’s -- Goran was more than fifteen times Kain’s own age, and dark power clung heavily around him to match. “Why were you executed, Raziel?” Kain demanded.

Raziel stepped foward, physically interposing himself between Goran and Kain.

"Very well. You wish to know the answer? I was executed because I dared to possess *these*!" With that he unfurled his wings, snapping them outward into full extension, his own residual shame and fury prompting the defiant display. Goran growled low at his back, and other nearby Razielim stopped and stared. They had known of their lord's wings, of course, even if they had been shown only to a fortunate few, before .... But it was another matter entirely to see them thus.

The membranous wings nearly glowed in the light of the torches and the gibbous moon, dappled honey-cream supported by elegantly ornate architecture of bone and tendon. It seemed beyond reason that such broad wings could unfurl from such compact folds upon Raziel’s back. Even the action of snapping them to full extension raised enough of a breeze to be felt, a flow of air like a breath.

Kain’s brows drew together. He’d... anticipated treason, of some sort, for never would he have suspected Raziel of cowardice, not even of the accidental sort. “What?” Kain said, thoroughly nonplussed. “Because of... why? Raziel, there is no sense to that.” Perhaps Raziel had overestimated Kain’s own role in this empire’s development.

"Is there not?" Oh, the irony in it. The elder Kain had many reasons indeed for his actions--few of which Raziel wanted to try to explain to his younger self. It seemed best--easiest--to go with the first, most known reason given: that Raziel had been executed for daring to surpass his sire.

"In the Empire, all vampires follow the paths laid out by their elders. As the elders evolve, so also do the fledglings in time. Claws, armor, greater strength and magicks ... they always come to the sire before the child. Until these." Raziel relaxed the taut display of his wings somewhat, but kept them outspread. "It was an affront to the heart of the Empire." That heart being, of course, Kain. "And so ... my wings were reft from me, and I was executed." The last words were forced out, grinding harshly in his throat.

Kain snorted. “If one’s underlings are but lesser copies of one’s self, where lies the advantage of keeping them at all?” Surely the same applied to descendants. “If such foolishness is common practice, it is well indeed that we shall depart ere long.” Kain inclined his head, thinking. “I call no creature Sire; neither should you.”

Goran gaped. “Caitiff,” he growled. An abandoned vampire fledge, sireless, without bloodline or status, cast from his own clan. Dumah’s brood had a habit of creating and discarding fledges so -- a practice nearly as shameful as the creatures it produced.

Raziel almost choked on Kain's brazen offhand statement, torn between black amusement and outrage at his sire's unwitting words. His voice was strangled as he managed to say, "It is ... interesting that you should believe such. You may find that time changes your mind on such matters, however. You will wish your fledglings to respect their creator, will you not?" Slanting a narrow glance at Goran, Raziel switched to the modern Empire dialect. "Masiosare's parentage--or lack thereof--is NOT under discussion. You will mention this to no other. Am I clear?"

Goran visibly controlled his disgust, though not without some effort, and bowed. "I hear and obey, my lord."

“T’will be little point in it, if this is the civilization which results,” Kain growled, not deigning to trade insults with the cur behind Raziel. “Your execution -- such acts are commonplace?” Who knew how many good men had thusly been slain? Kain would have killed -- a thousand, thousand times over -- for just a handful of the men pretending to attend to their own affairs in the camp around them. Even the cur. Damnation, had he met any of them before encountering Raziel, he would have stood in awe of the palpable energy that coursed in a nimbus around each of the vampires. Oh, there were a number that Kain estimated he could best in a fair fight, without surprise or magics, but for the greater part... the Razielim seemed rather a great deal older than Kain. Crossly, Kain adjusted one of his bracers. ‘Twas not Raziel’s wings that most sorely roused Kain’s jealousy.

"No. They are not." It would have been so easy to lie and say otherwise, but Raziel found he could not do so. Not to Kain. Even if the likelihood of his sire learning the truth was still centuries away. "And the execution of a clanlord--is almost unthinkable." Almost only because it *had* been done--Kain had executed one of his own. Raziel finally folded his wings once more, tucking them tightly against his back. "Regardless, it was done. We must now deal with the consequences of it in this time." He hoped Kain would let the matter lie at that. It was--both ironic and painful to hear his tormentor and executioner speak so casually of his downfall.

Kain gave that due consideration, putting together the bits and pieces he had garnered from the long march to the camp. “These Turielim and... Dumahim had to do with it, did they not?” Kain knew that Dumah was one of his, for Raziel had told him that much. That knowledge was enough to give him pause... then he recalled the base-born, slavering creatures, that, though blood of his own blood, had attacked with little more than animal intelligence. Death would be a mercy -- and that kindness, Kain was always willing to provide. “We shall carve a swath through their numbers, for vengeance is surely owed you.”

Despite himself, Goran brightened marginally.

Raziel favored him with a grim smile. "Yes, we will. And any other sneaking Zephonim who think to weasel their way into our ranks." Raziel would take his own vengeance against Dumah and Turel--and even against Kain, some centuries hence. But for the moment, he was willing to kill his brothers' spawn without mercy or hesitation, just as they had done to his Razielim. "Though perhaps not as many as I would like--we still have the Hylden awaiting our arrival, after all."

Kain nodded, surveying the encampment with a critical eye. “’Twill take some doing, methinks.” The Razielim were clearly very fine warriors, but organizing an effective strikeforce with so few men.... Kain paused, thinking. He did not want to betray his lack of knowledge regarding what might be a very common creature, but -- “How can a Zephonim be detected? And how quickly can the outlying ranks of Razielim be recalled?” Kain addressed that last to Goran.

Goran glanced at his sire, obviously perturbed by Kain's presumption, but unwilling to anger Raziel by expressing it. "My lord?"

"Tarrant detected this spy easily enough," Raziel said grimly. "And he believed there were no others. I know of no magics to penetrate a Zephonim guise so easily, but I intend to renew my acquaintance with each Razielim in this camp and ensure they are truly blood of my blood. As for the others--that in part is what we must find out, and why I have called a council. The clan has been scattered. Anani commands perhaps the largest group still remaining. If the others knew of my existence, they would come--but we cannot proclaim that I live without bringing down the wrath of the other Clans upon all of us."

Other Clans... such as the Zephonim, most likely. Kain glanced aside and nodded, his flat yellow gaze sweeping the assembled men. He was not certain whether it was Raziel’s ownership of so many warriors -- bound to Raziel by blood and fealty -- or the notion of Raziel ‘renewing acquaintance’ that disturbed him.

Anani emerged from the largest of the tents, joined by two of his own elder fledglings, as well as several of his younger brothers -- also vampires of Raziel’s make. Every one of the gathered vampires looked upon Raziel with awe as they approached, only maintaining composure for the sake of the younger warriors nearby. _Lord Raziel,_ came Anani’s Whisper, a warm thread Raziel had not heard for millennia, _We are assembled, at your convenience._

Raziel nodded, showing Anani he had heard. Having his eldest there, capable and strong, eased some of the worry from his mind. Raziel would have led the Razielim alone, if he had been forced to--but he was eternally grateful that his eldest and best was there, at his right hand once more. "Let us take this discussion into more private surroundings," he said, turning. "Such speculations are not for idle ears." For Kain's sake, he continued to use the older dialect that the younger vampire could comprehend. Most of the elders Anani had gathered were old enough to understand it, and it was an additional barrier against being overheard.

Kain nodded, though he soon had cause to grit his teeth. Even the way the clan elders moved was practiced, honed, every one of the three-taloned men falling into place around Raziel in some hidden accordance with rank and age. Anani walked at Raziel’s right; Goran to his left; a tall, thoughtful-looking man just behind and to the right, and so on, in precisely defined order. Growling a little to himself, Kain moved to impose himself into the formation. His attempt to shoulder aside one elder was greeted with a bemused -- and somewhat incredulous -- blink. It was like trying to shoulder aside a fortress wall.

Every pair of eyes in the encampment followed the little group as they ducked under the flap of the largest of the tents, the space within dominated by a single table, covered over with maps. The appearance of rigid discipline faded. “Sire,” breathed Nekoda, Raziel’s twenty-third, lifting a finely-trembling, three-clawed hand to lay it upon Raziel’s shoulder.

"Nekoda." Just that, only the name, but Raziel let some of his reserve slip now that he was no longer under the eyes of the fledglings--not to mention Tarrant's cool and watchful gaze. He turned, reaching up to clasp his fledgling's forearm. "It is good to see you again--all of you. Goran, Ludovic, Thurstan ..." He breathed in deeply, letting the familiar scents, the auras, sink into him. He was here. His fledglings--at least some of them--were alive. And with them, he was beginning to believe that they might just succeed in this mad quest .... "... I did not think I would ever be afforded this chance."

Nekoda’s skin was well-armored, nearly as high-platinum white as Raziel’s own -- for once Raziel need not concern himself with inadvertently drawing wounds by clasping too tightly. Each vampire lifted his chin, just slightly, when named, a reflexive tilt of the head that bared the throat. “Your resurrection... we never could have imagined... a godsend... oh, Sire...” the expressions of relief were broken, whispered in deference to the listening ears outside. But just to lay hand upon Raziel once more, to bask in the strength that each of the gathered men recalled from their first awakening to the night....

Kain folded his arms, unhappily. Raziel’s aura of age and power alone could be oppressive; having the energy fields of seven other vampires added to his was nothing short of overwhelming, a constant crawl and flux of power across his skin. Five of the elder vampires seemed to be sons of Raziel, for they were very similar in ‘feel’, as it were. The other two seemed to be fledglings of Anani, for all that they ‘felt’ nearly as ancient as the others.

“Sire, your return is welcome a thousand times over, but were... was it not possible to retrieve the others, those lost to the Abyss, as well?” Heli, secondborn of Anani, spoke at last, hesitantly.

Raziel turned from clasping Thurstan's shoulder to meet that questioning, hopeful gaze. "Others? Surely K--" he stopped short, barely in time. "Surely those who attacked the sanctuary were not also thrown into the Lake of the Dead?" He was not so foolish to believe that even his Razielim could attack Kain and live, but surely his sire had not been so cruel! The Abyss was an awful, lingering death ... reserved only for the foulest of traitors and weaklings. He turned to Anani, knowing he would see the truth there.

Anani’s eyes held a world of old pain, the shadows of loss like overlapping wounds. “Not those who sought vengeance. Rather... rather those who chose to join you.” His own firstborn, and many, many of Raziel’s fledglings among them. Assaulting Kain had been suicide of a sort as well, but many of the Razielim could not bring themselves to turn upon God. For those unable to contemplate existence without their Lord, and unwilling to commit the most grievous of heresies... there was really but one choice.

"No ..." Raziel breathed, stepping backwards as if to deny the loss he saw in Anani's face. "They did not--" His proud warriors--for all he had feared the worst, somehow he had never considered the possibility that his Razielim might take their own lives out of despair. He turned away, his face a mask of anger and grief. "Those fools! Those stupid, loyal fools ... how could they throw away their lives like that?" To throw themselves into the very maw of the Elder God in his name; it was a gift that Raziel had never wanted.

His hands clenched into fists. "How many?" he asked, forcing out the question.

Anani closed his eyes briefly. “Four hundred fifty-five,” he said.

“Sixty-three,” corrected Goran, gruffly. “There were eight deserters over the week you’ve been with the scouting party.” He turned his weathered golden gaze to Raziel. “And that is only the number of which we are aware; we do not have contact with many of the units of Razielim still in the field.” Departures were nearly always in small groups, for when an elder lost hope, his fledglings almost invariably accompanied him.

“My Lord...” Ludovic, the tall, thoughtful-looking man, spoke after a moment, “the circumstances of your resurrection... has Kain not turned from us?”

Already distracted by the grim news, Raziel could not prevent his reflexive glance at Kain at the mention of that name. Another inevitable revelation; he only hoped that Kain had the sense to restrain both his questions and his temper until they were in private.

"My resurrection ... is a complicated affair," he said heavily, seating himself upon one of the camp stools. "Not even Anani has been told of how it was accomplished. I suppose it is best to start with what is known--there was no trick, or illusion involved. I was executed, and thrown into the Lake of the Dead." The assembled elders stirred uneasily at that bald statement, anger rising in the close confines of the tent. "There I stayed for centuries--at least a millennia, perhaps more. My resurrection comes in the far future--a future in which the Razielim are extinct."

“You have... traveled in time? Like unto....” Thurstan began, trailing off. Like unto Moebius, he nearly said, for certain tales of Kain had long since reached mythic proportions. The timestreamer was a prominent foe in many of those legends.

“It does not matter,” growled Goran fiercely, “neither the providence of our Sire’s revival, nor Kain’s fickle favor. The only element of importance now is the actions we shall take to gather the clan, as Lord Raziel commands.”

Kain brindled -- though silently -- at the oblique accusation. Fickle? Had he not traversed the timestream to be here?

"In truth, it does matter, Goran," Raziel said in mild rebuke. "For yes, I have travelled in time, from the future, in order to rejoin you. And it is my intention to take as many Razielim as I may, and traverse time once again--only this time to the far past, to find sanctuary for the Razielim in the era of the Ancients." He paused, waiting for their reaction. On its face, it was a preposterous idea. He would not be surprised if even these, his own fledglings, choked on such an outlandish proposition.

Raziel’s guess was not far from the mark. Thurstan chuckled politely at what he perceived to be a joke; the sound quickly cut off when it became evident that Raziel had meant no jest. Silence reigned for a long moment. “The Ancients,” he repeated, dully.

“You do not mean... the angels the humans worship, Sire?” offered Anani, a trace of hopefulness poorly concealed in his voice. Perhaps Raziel meant another group in another land, some kingdom calling itself after the mythical beings.

“No,” mused Ludovic thoughtfully, “rather, the starborn vampires, no? Brethren to Kain Himself?” They were no less mythical than any of the human’s champions, of course.

Kain’s brows drew together. “No,” he growled. Brethren? He had none. “A race of vampires in the distant past. We have just come from that era.” Reaching out, he summoned to hand a long, finely-curved sword of Ancient make. Kain’s interruption drew little reaction from the elders, but his use of unknown magic and his brandishing of a weapon in Raziel’s presence... did.

There was the hiss of indrawn breath from Anani--and working in perfect tandem at some silent command, his fledglings had crossed the space between them and Kain in the blink of an eye, brutally slamming Kain the ground. One crouched over him, growling low, talons at his throat, while the other kicked the blade from his hand in a moment of inattention. The other elders had likewise stiffened, bridling, some stepping in between the fracas and Raziel, though none had yet unsheathed weapons in the close confines of the tent.

"You DARE threaten our lord, mongrel?" Goran spat furiously. "Just because Lord Raziel deigns to favor you above your station--"

"Hold." Raziel had not moved; his voice was weary and ironic. Such misunderstandings seemed to be inevitable whenever Kain was involved. "Let him up. He was not threatening anyone, as ... impetuous as his actions were." It was the mildest of rebukes, and yet he had a feeling Kain would bristle even at that.

Kain had not even seen the elders move. One instant they were steps away, the next, air was whooshing from Kain’s lungs as hit back met the sandy floor with a thud. “ _Impetuous_?” Kain snarled, and lashed out, catching Heli around the boot and yanking, hard, even as he twisted, snake-lithe, to drive fangs into the other elder’s wrist, heedless of the talons at his throat.

Both of Anani’s fledglings, of course, had spent centuries handling their own broods... even if Kain was rather significantly more aggressive than usual for a fledgling of his age. Heli’s balance was not compromised in the least. Tekoa, the other elder, bemusedly set to prying those snapping fangs from the chitin that armored his natural weapons. “Easy, Masiosare,” he soothed, fisting a handful of Kain’s hair to force his head back -- baring the younger vampire’s throat in a gesture that should have reminded Kain of his place, should have eased his affronted rage. “Calm, I am letting you go.” The pupils of Kain’s eyes were pinpricks of black in the furiously hot gold.

Raziel growled low in his throat as Kain continued to struggle. _Kain, cease this bickering. Your actions make you seem only more of the child they believe you are, and less of an equal! You unsheathed a blade in the presence of my retainers without warning, even knowing I am lord of this clan--what did you think would happen?_ He did not want to have to intervene himself--having forced Kain's submission once, he found he did not want to do it again in the presence of so many others, even if they did not know his true identity.

Options narrowing, swept up in the sudden and encompassing urges of flight or fight, Kain opened his mouth for the summoning of magics... and then came Raziel’s sending. It was not Raziel’s words that evoked a reaction, nor even the disapproval in them. Rather, it was the familiarity of that mind brushing his, igniting a core-deep response engrained from the moment of Kain’s remaking as a vampire. He clung to that contact, anchoring himself against the panic and the need to offer resistance. Slowly, Kain’s body relaxed under the elder who straddled him.

“Is this truly of Ancient make?” asked Heli, crouching to turn over the blade Kain had dropped.

Raziel waved the others back to their places, and watched narrowly to ensure Kain was indeed being released before he replied. "It is--as are many other pieces of arms and armor we have brought for the Razielim. The Ancients truly existed--as Masiosare has said, they are not angels, nor gods, but the most ancient of vampires, the ultimate progenitors of us all. They are--different in both appearance and nature than us." He hesitated, caught trying to decide how much to say. Deciding to err on the side of brevity, at least for now, he continued, "They too will soon pass into the mists of history, their race extinct. Even so, they have agreed to open their lands and their time, and offer sanctuary to the Razielim."

Tekoa cocked his head, studying the fledgling under him for a moment, until he was certain Masiosare would offer no further resistance. The fledgling was remarkably strong for his age, even if he behaved more like a half-wild creature than a properly dominated young vampire. Still, obeying Raziel’s orders, he stood at last, offering a hand to help Masiosare up.

A little stunned, not certain whether to be more angry at his treatment or at his submission to one of Raziel’s _underlings_ , Kain took it, without thinking, and was drawn to his feet with easy strength.

The elders stirred, just slightly, at the implication that Kain was perhaps not the genesis of their race. The potential blasphemy brought far less reaction from them now, however, than it might a few years ago. “Will we not thereby change history, by seeking out the past?” Ludovic asked, for even Kain, in his legendary exploits, was said not to have had great success in changing history for the better.

For the first time, Raziel hesitated. "I ... do not believe so, inasmuch as any creature can know these things," he admitted. "It is my hope that that, if anything, the bringing of the clan to that time will simply fulfill history's writ, not change it." He looked around at the elders around him, his face drawn and serious. "Ultimately, it matters not. For mark me, my own--I have seen the future, and it holds no place for the Razielim. I do not wish to see you all sink into the dark, forgotten and abandoned. I can offer you no assurances save this: that the past affords us a chance. A chance for the Razielim to live."

A pause, and Anani nodded firmly. “Any chance at all is gift far greater than we had dared hope. What need we do? You mentioned the ruins at Timber on Naze?”

Goran stroked the back on one talon across his chin. “It may be wisest not to speak of the Ancients to the greater part of the clan until necessary. There is no question that the Razielim will follow wheresoever you lead, but... morale would suffer, if the men imagined they might be chasing a myth, even at your behest.” This was the reason Goran was of value to Raziel -- for while Goran possessed little in the way political astuteness, and tended to be overfond of propriety and obedience, there were few generals better able to lead a fighting force and keep them in exemplary order.

Heli lifted the blade Kain had dropped, examining it. The sword seemed almost delicate in his talons, the steel gleaming in the muted light. “Lord Raziel,” he said slowly, consideringly, “with your return, and these arms of the Ancients, shall we not drive the Dumahim and Turielim back to their citadels, or even into the sea? You have grown in strength; even the meanest fledgling could see that -- why not reclaim your place and that of the clan, here and now?”

"You are right, Goran," Raziel agreed. "Twill be best to keep this among only those elders who need to know. Especially since we do not know what other Zephonim spies may have infiltrated the Razielim elsewhere. As to Heli's suggestion ..." he looked over at the fledgling, and his face hardened. "Think on it. You would war upon the other Clans--drive them to extinction, root and branch, even as they tried to do to us? Assuming we succeeded in exterminating our brethren so--what then? Would you war against Kain himself? Do you think the humans will sit idly by when Clan wars against Clan?" Heli was silent and shamefaced in answer.

"My anger is the same as your own. It is a poor substitute for taking one's own vengeance, but you must abide, and believe me when I say that letting the Dumahim and Turelim live is a far greater punishment than we could ever mete out. Even the Empire will not last forever." It was a statement that would have been tantamount to blasphemy before his execution, and the stirring of those around him showed their unease. "Better we go to a younger land, one green and full of promise still. There are still humans there, and other enemies as well--but we know well how to handle such, do we not?"

Heli slipped the captured blade through a loop of his belt and fell to one knee, fist clasped over his unbeating heart. “It shall be as you command, my Lord,” he said, the ceremonial nature of his submission in no manner lessening it. Like many of the Razielim, he would have followed even if Raziel had ordered an assault against Kain.

Anani watched his progeny closely for a moment, before turning his gaze to Raziel. “The last I was aware, there was little left of the ruins at Timber-on-Naze after the last Sarafan rebellion took refuge there.” The Melchiahim had put down that insurgence, which was proof enough of its weakness. “Do I understand correctly that the ruins contain some means of traversing into the past?”

Raziel nodded. "Hidden under the ruins will be even more ancient chambers containing a timestreaming portal. Moebius used it once, and now we shall as well." There was a certain irony in using Moebius' secrets to preserve vampires, when the Timestreamer had done his best to eradicate the vampire race. "Goran, Anani--how many other groups of Razielim exist, and where were their last known locations?"

Reaching out, Anani drew the rough-hewn table closer to Raziel, hardly seeming to notice its solid weight. He selected a large map of the northern and eastern boundaries of what had once been Raziel’s uncontested domain. “We know that Phineas led the largest portion of the army to assail Dumah. And while that assault clearly failed...” he traced the routes by which Dumah would have to move supplies and men, “...we know that some remnant of his forces persist, for many Dumahim caravans do not reach their destinations.” Captured Dumahim had confirmed the disruption to the supply routes.

Goran grunted. "Phineas always was impatient. Still, he would have done his best to conserve his forces, even after he had been routed. As best we can figure, he has been using the mountains at the citadel's back as cover, and ambushing any who are sent after him. The Dumahim do not know those passes as we do, and lately they seem content to simply prevent their escape, trusting in the onset of winter to starve them out." There were few humans to hunt in the mountains, and without access to the villages in the valleys below, the Razielim would soon be maddened by hunger and forced from their mountainous retreat.

Reaching out, he tapped a considering talon upon a few other areas on the map. "I have heard tell from others of smaller bands here, and here--though I do not know who leads them. They are constantly on the move, much like we are--skirmishing and raiding villages where they can. In all, I would say there are only a few hundred more, scattered between here and the border."

Raziel absorbed the information, thinking. "We know where they might be--but how best to get word to them without dividing our forces and inviting slaughter?" He could Whisper to some, were he close enough and if he knew they yet lived ... but not over hundreds of miles to an uncertain receiver.

For once selecting caution over brash impetuousness, Kain offered, _Could they be sought from the air?_ He had not seen any vampires employ shapeshifting, precicely, even if Tarrant’s version thereof had drawn no particular astonishment. Raziel of course could fly, but on his own, he might never cover enough territory within a reasonable span of time. Kain’s batform had no sharper senses than Raziel, of course, but the little winged creatures were quite good at detecting metals, which resounded oddly to their cries.

Nekoda scrubbed his talons through his thick hair. “I little belike admitting it, but... in the past, whenever information was lacking, it could be obtained at a price from Zephon’s network of scuttling spies. If any know the precise location of the Razielim... it is likely they.”

 _Flying is an art that only you, I, and Tarrant currently possess,_ Raziel sent back to Kain. _And while we will go out to seek others if needs be, it is not a very effective method at gathering scattered troops--and highly visible as well._ He glanced over at Nekoda. "Under the circumstance, I don't believe I can seek out Zephon and cozen answers from him. Are you suggested we waylay one or more of his spies in the hopes they have the information we need?" It went without saying that said spies would not likely survive the interrogation.

Nekoda shrugged slightly. It was said that one might as well try to wring blood from a stone as information from an unwilling Zephonim, but on the other hand -- “It seems that your surgeon had developed some means of detecting them, and unless I miss my mark, managed to trigger the spy’s self destruction in mere moments.” Melchiahim were known to be adept with some mind magics, though Tarrant’s skills were clearly extraordinary. “With practice, could he circumvent a Zephonim spy’s defenses? Or -- could we locate a Rahabim willing to do the same?” They often more than matched the Zephonim’s control over perceptions and the mind, though gaining a powerful Rahabim’s cooperation might be no easy task.

It seemed at every turn, Raziel was forced to depend upon Tarrant's abilities. It was a galling thing, but if it found his Razielim ... Reluctantly, he nodded. "That may indeed be possible, once Tarrant has recovered. Anani--what is his condition?" He glanced down at the map. "We also still have the problem of contacting them once we know their exact location. Single messengers may be waylaid or disbelieved--but if we move in force, we will be noticed. The smaller groups may be between here and the ruins, and gathered up as we progress. But Phineas' warriors ... " He pondered for a moment. "I may need to go myself."

“He is yet to return to consciousness, though his wounds are closing,” said Anani, and paused. “While I agree that single messengers might not prove effective, Sire, I would plead that you travel accompanied.” Anani was not wont to worry excessively, and none were stronger nor more capable than Raziel, but the merest thought of losing him once more....

“Or permit me to go in your stead. Phineas shall not disregard news of your return if it comes from me.”

Raziel hesitated. Anani was capable, true--but he could neither teleport, nor fly. If he were caught by the Dumahim--even the finest warrior could be brought low without others to guard him from being overwhelmed. Without glancing at Kain, he Whispered, _What think you?_

Kain shrugged slightly, not nearly as used to this form of gestureless communication as Raziel. _I think we should go spy-hunting, whilst the rest of the camp prepares to move fast and far,_ he sent back. _The magic this Zephonim used was the same spell as you learned previously._ It should therefore be detectable, now that Kain was alert for it. In Kain’s estimation, each step -- each hurdle -- should be confronted one at a time. There’d be no point in seeking out the fractured Razielim before knowing where to look.

Kain's suggestion, as always, was incisive and to the point. Raziel, pleased that this part of his sire had not changed, nodded. "We shall make no decisions yet. First we must locate our brethren--and to do that, we must seek out the Zephonim." He smiled grimly. "Knowing Zephon, there are more than a few scuttling about between Dumah and Turel's armies, even if they are no longer within our ranks. Meanwhile--we must prepare those here for the journey--and the battles--to come."

The elders nodded sagely, seeing the wisdom in this. More maps and lists were produced -- reports of provisions, of equipment readiness, of the few known and nearby troop dispositions. Each of the leaders jockeyed to confirm details with, or ask advice of, their Lord.

Kain, his pride much appeased, folded his arms, leaning back against one of the strong, supporting tent-staves, watching the easy interaction of the elder vampires. The bulk of his attention was already turned to the task at hand. He thought it likely that there were other groups of Razielim nearby -- raiding parties like Anani’s -- thus the reason it had taken more than a few seconds to assemble the elders. Were Kain the one employing spies, he would move to slip a handful into those groups, as soon as word of the first spy’s death reached him. They would begin the search there.

 

***

  
Tarrant rejoined them some few hours later, cloaked to preserve his vanity, but almost whole.

The blood of Raziel's firstborn and the terror of a human -- the Hunter had left little more than puddles of blood, gobbets of flesh, and one half of a face so grotesquely distorted by fear that it was nearly unrecognizable -- had done much to revive him.

Only long rest and many nights' leisurely feeding would restore him to his preferred state... but this would do.

Raziel glanced up at Tarrant's entrance. "Tarrant. I am glad to see you on your feet once more." Though in truth it was not out of any affection, but rather necessity. "We were speaking of the Zephonim--we believe that if we could find another of their spies, they might be able to tell us the location of other Razielim. How far away would you be able to detect such?"

Kain watched Tarrant's entry with narrowed eyes.

The assembled elders, however, responded rather differently. Tarrant had surely been instrumental in restoring Raziel from a fate worse than any death. No matter what individual Razielim thought of Melchiahim healers and the services they provided, they all clearly owed this particular one a debt of gratitude. Despite Tarrant's apparently young age, he was greeted with nods all around, and a murmur of welcome.

Tarrant certainly looked like none of them; though he was very tall, even Kain outmuscled him. Draped in black, his form delicately slender, he was a stiletto in a clash of war-hammers and battle-axes.

He did not waste time with verbal pleasantries, though the courtesy of the elder vampires earned them all an inclination of the head. One stray lock of honey-toned hair slipped from his hood, beautiful once again... what there was of it.

"A few miles in any direction, particularly if I am in the sky. Were I in better form, further."

Nodding to show his understanding, Raziel waved the Power to the map. "According to Goran and Anani, the nearest Dumahim encampments are here. The Turelim are farther, though they have clashed over these villages of late. There is no guarantee that a Zephonim will be among them, of course, but I find it difficult to believe my brother would ignore such rivalries entirely." He glanced upward. "How precisely do you penetrate a Zephonim's guise? Can it be taught?"

"I was born with such vision. But there are methods," Tarrant stated quietly, "By which a non-Adept can perceive the auras and energies of the world, living and unliving beings, and energy, and they can be taught, but they are spells of limited effectiveness.

"You have seen through Taiki's eyes. It is something like that, I believe."

Deliberately, he held out a gloved hand to Raziel.

Raziel regarded Tarrant's outstretched hand with some suspicion for a moment. Temporary allies they might be, but that made the Power no less dangerous. Still, he was not about to let prudence turn to cowardice. He extended his own hand in turn, and let the taloned fingers clasp Tarrant's smaller, softer palm.

Tarrant swiftly breathed a spell, and Raziel's vision suddenly... expanded.

The energy, auras, spells, magics, _fae_ of everything was suddenly visible, could be smelled, felt, tasted, experienced, a roiling, seething mass of power, overlaying, underlaying, permeating everything.

It was even more vivid than Taiki's still-immature vision. This was the world that Tarrant saw, a cacophonous miasma of power. Separating out each individual permutation was difficult to the untrained, so wild was it all.

But the more tightly Raziel chose to focus, the clearer the picture became. The Reaver held one kind of energy, Elder vampires another, fledglings another. Tarrant himself was a chill, empty void; looking too long there was to risk madness. Beneath them, currents of energy pulsed. Minor magics were bright sparks of power glittering here and there.

The Neocount's hand, in Raziel's, was very, very cold.

Raziel stiffened convulsively at the onslaught on his senses. He had been half-expecting something like it, from his time with Taiki; but nothing to this degree. He could see the pulse and flicker of the elder vampires that surrounded them both, their dark, lightning-shot power, ripples of unease or anger as they shifted, unsure of whether they should interfere ... and so much more.

"...Lord Raziel?" Anani said, worried and bristling all at once.

"Do not interfere," Raziel said, and his voice in his own ears sounded distant, hollow and strange. The longer his vision was altered thus, the easier it became to perceive the differences and shifts in the currents of power around them. It was like the Underworld, only amplified to an incredible degree, with everything stripped down to their core essence.

Tarrant did not release Raziel's hand.

"A spell," he repeated, "Can be invoked to incur such vision for a small time, a glance, but it is your own power which must fuel it. And risking it in many places might well drive even such as you mad. Or blind. Or a burned-out husk."

Like staring forever into the naked face of the sun.

"At least the _fae_ of this place won't mutate just by your looking... though other things might be watching you... watching them."

Raziel knew well what Tarrant was referring to; but if anything, the warning simply stiffened his spine further. If this spell would give him further insight into the imbalance of powers in Nosgoth, as well as searching out any Zephonim spies, than it was well worth the risk. "I will take that chance, if you will teach me this spell." He could not rely upon Tarrant forever, after all ....

Anani and Goran exchanged glances. They did not understand much of which Tarrant spoke, and neither wished to in any manner coddle their Sire, of course, but... this talk of risks sat poorly with both of them. So while none of the elders interfered, exactly, several moved subtly, shifting their weight forward, prepared to lunge at a moment's notice.

Kain was far less subtle in his protest. Snarling, he stepped forward. To Raziel's enhanced vision, Kain's aura of power was young and growing, strong for a fledgling, but utterly dwarfed by the devouring draw of the Reaver, which was easy to see even with the blade contained outside this dimension in its magical pocket. "And what do you imagine to gain from this transaction, Power?" Kain growled.

"My name," Tarrant whispered, "Is Gerald Tarrant. Use it, child, when you address me, or hold your tongue."

He never took his eyes off Raziel. The information suddenly flooded into Raziel's mind-- the words in Tarrant's own language, the inflections, the proper focus of energies that he could now only infrequently sense.

Raziel's face tightened into a grimace as the workings of the spell were suddenly thrust into his unprepared mind. It was not a kind method; Raziel had to visibly brace himself to remain on his feet, his free hand rising to his head as he fought to understand and contain the intricacies of the power Tarrant was showing him.

It was too much to take in all at once--but somehow Raziel managed to bridle the flow of information, and bend his will to engraving it upon his memory with inhuman determination. Tarrant's presence withdrew, leaving behind a pounding headache, and Raziel squinted his eyes shut in an effort to ease the throbbing.

"For such a small spell ... it has quite the edge to it," he said hoarsely.

With a flash of fangs, Kain wrapped his claws around Tarrant's wrist and bodily hauled his hand away from Raziel's, uncaring of the cold of the Neocount's skin and the danger of slitting Tarrant's skin against Raziel's talons. "What have you done, _Power_ ," he demanded.

The Razielim were not particularly strong sorcerers, but they knew full well the danger of interrupting a ritual of any sort -- whether relating to the disciplines imparted by Kain's lineage, or the magics won through long study. Only the fact that Raziel seemed well and speaking prevented the nearest of his brood from eviscerating Kain then and there.

The altered vision was suddenly cut, forcing Raziel back into his usual mode of sight, erasing that fantastic and complex beauty in one ragged stroke.

Tarrant's temper -- and pain, for he was not yet fully healed -- flared. He drew his blade with his free hand, and it blazed unearthly blue-white, tendrils of raw coldfire undulating upwards like unholy smoke. It illuminated nothing, only made the shadows longer, sharper.

Its intense and ominous aura, perhaps even a match for the Reaver, filled the tent. It, too, craved souls. Enough of them, and Tarrant might even become fully healed, and the power of one such as Kain would be more than enough of a meal to do it...

Raziel staggered as the connection was severed. The flare of power as Tarrant unsheathed his blade could not be missed, nor the ratcheting of the anger and fear from all the vampires, elder and younger, in the tent. There was the hiss of steel and leather as other, lesser weapons were drawn. His head aching abominably, Raziel forced his eyes open and wrapped a hand around Kain's arm in turn; not forcing him to release Tarrant just yet, but letting talons prick the younger vampire's skin in silent warning.

"If anyone dies in this tent, I shall be most displeased," he said, deceptively mild.

Kain held steady for a single long moment... and then abruptly released Tarrant, though he did not step back, nor move from between the two elder vampires. "Are you well, Raziel?" he demanded, eyes never leaving Tarrant's mirrored silver gaze -- the neocount's eyes nearly as consuming as the blade he bore.

Tarrant's gaze never wavered from Kain's.

Had this been his own world, he would have attempted to slay Kain on the spot. His pride had finally been pricked enough. Had he not burned for this fledgling? Bled for him?

This was the gratitude that he was given, a rough hand, brutish, uncivilised...

Murder glittered in his eyes.

"I am well. He did nothing but grant me what I had asked for." Albeit in an abrupt and rather painful fashion, but that was irrelevant.

Raziel had never tried to Whisper to Tarrant before, but given the other choices ... _Tarrant, I request you stay your hand--Kain is rash, but he is still my Sire, and I would prefer he live long enough to actually become such in truth ..._

Raziel's Whisper struck a wall of coldest ice before slowly, slowly, easing past.

And found a mind strained well past its own tightly-controlled veneer of civility. Tarrant was a Power, trammeled himself in the trappings of control, but...

Through the limited thread between them that shared blood had created, images and feelings oozed.

He had not properly devoured food save for once.

He had been immolated-- several times. The memory of those flames still hotly licked his soul.

Even now, his whole body burned.

He had been impaled-- by this fledge, no less.

He had been forced to grovel before the Unnamed, take its foulness into his body. That horrid, madness-inducing corruption sliding down his throat... Raziel felt every inch. Felt how it crawled through his body and brain still, forced him through yet another evolution, forced him to redefine himself anew.

And now, Kain dared to challenge him, lay hands upon him like-- like those brutish brothers of his--!

Had he not been so damaged on this trip, he might well have responded with cold scorn. But the frayed rope of his temper was dangerously close to snapping. Sanity would have checked his impulse to smite the one who would be the savior of this world...

At that moment, Gerald Tarrant's sanity was in very short supply.

Tarrant was adept at concealing his emotions behind the mirrored glass of his eyes, but even still the ebb and wash of his fury could not be entirely contained. Kain sensed it... and scented weakness, loss of control. Raziel did not want Tarrant dead, and so Kain did not draw a blade of his own. But as Tarrant still posed a threat to the success of this endeavor... Kain would drive home this lessoning, and enforce his supremacy, by hand. Fangs bared, he tensed.

Tekoa had, evidently, had enough. Reaching out, he cuffed the back of Kain's head, the razored edges of his talons gripping hard at the nape of the fledgling's neck. With a snarl of mild annoyance, he dragged Kain to one side, incidentally permitting Heli enough room to sidle in between Raziel and Tarrant. That coldly luminescent blade set none of the elders at ease. "Honestly, neonate, were you abandoned at birth?" Tekoa demanded, shoving his captive up against one of the thick, supporting staves with a crack of strained wood.

Tarrant looked on. The interruption, the ridiculousness of it all, permitted him to clamp down on his own fury until the ice came down once more, impenetrable.

"I need not explain myself to a fledgling," he said calmly. "Particularly one so careless."

And he sheathed his sword.

"However, I accept your challenge. Name your terms. If I find them acceptable, Raziel may determine who will bear witness."

Kain twisted uselessly against the talons that held him, and then gave up physical resistance, instead permitting his body to disperse into a thick roil of mist for a split second, passing through the elder's claws.

Tekoa stepped back, wide-eyed. The number of vampires who had inherited Kain's gift of shapeshifting was vanishingly small; the clanlord's tolerance of this fledge's antics made significantly more sense when viewed from that light.

Kain reformed with a hollow hiss of displaced air. "Sunset, outside the camp," he snarled, then paused. As much as he would have enjoyed bearing the Reaver against Tarrant... "No blades," he added, a little regretfully.

Tarrant smiled thinly. "Typical. I accept."

Pressed aside by Heli, and reeling still from the onslaught of both the spell and Tarrant's maddened rage, Raziel pressed palms to his temples in a rare admission of weakness, feeling as if his skull would crack. He could interfere, forbid the duel--but it would only postpone the battle, not end it, and garner the ire of both sides as well. And, truth be told--he could not protect Kain from his own impetuous actions forever.

"Very well--if this is what it will take to settle your differences, Goran and I shall bear witness," he gritted out, forcing himself to drop his hands and straighten.

Kain nodded, fairly well-pleased, despite Tarrant's customary asperity. They had spent some hours walking into the camp, and now some hours in meeting; it was close to dawn. Which meant there should be time enough to hunt a little, before the sunset that might well see Tarrant somewhat incapacitated. He would shelve his ire until then. "If we are finished here," said Kain, stalking past the Neocount and ducking to push aside the tent flap, "I intend to go seek these spies. You both may join me," he said, abandoning any pretense at humility.

"You may go seeking spies," Tarrant smiled. "I am going to bed. Good morning."

He was not of Kain's bloodline, he would not jump to serve the younger vampire at his beck and call.

The other elders shifted, glancing among themselves and a few growling a little under their breath at Kain's brash arrogance. Raziel simply shook his head. "Very well--we have done what we can for now. Goran, Anani--prepare the camp to move. Thurstan shall accompany Masiosare and I. Ludovic--recall what other hunting parties you may have out, and mobilize additional scouts. It will be imperative to know where our enemies are once we begin to move." He glanced around, ignoring the throbbing of his skull with sheer bloody-minded determination. "I will return at sunset."


	4. Alea Iacta Est--The Die Has Been Cast

The trail was long and winding, and clearly meant for earthbound vampires. Fingerholds in the stone clifface were set too far apart, at too-odd angles, for weak human limbs to utilize. Many places on the trail were wide enough for two men abreast -- others were far narrower, with a sheer drop to one side, and jagged volcanic stone to the other.

When Kain had asked Raziel to walk with him, he’d not been certain how to voice the suspicions that lingered constantly at the back of his mind. But as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, as the gold and orange in the sky faded to red and bruise-purple, Kain at last gave up the effort to phrase his question delicately. “What am I, Raziel, in this era? What am I, that I should be spoken of with trepidation and loathing?” he asked. To be feared was one thing... to be hated, quite another.

Raziel was surprised it had taken Kain as long as he had.  Long minutes passed in silence as he contemplated what he was about to say;  contemplated about whether to say it at all.  But he had not lied to Kain since his arrival in Haven, not once.  He would not start now.

"You are ... the heart of the Empire," he said, not looking at the younger vampire.  "You are Emperor, Kain." 

Not *were*, like some hallowed human saint or king, but *are*. 

Kain paused a moment, then nodded, and leapt for a series of handholds carved upon the ledge overhead. He had surmised something similar though not, to be sure, to quite such an extent. Hooking one hand over the edge and making certain of his grip, Kain twisted, reaching back to offer a hand, should Raziel require one.

“Then it was I you wished to avoid, at the citadel?” he asked, confirming one of his suspicions.

Waving the hand away, Raziel moved slightly to one side, allowing Kain full use of the handholds as he began to clamber up the rocky face as easily as if it were a ladder, talons sinking lightly into the stone and gripping.  The magic he had ripped from Zephon made such feats pathetically easy, and he paid only slight attention to the climb.  "...yes," he admitted to his too-young Sire.  The corners of his mouth tipped upward in the slightest of wry smiles.  "You become ... quite formidable indeed, Kain."

Kain heaved himself over the edge and leaned out to watch Raziel’s progress. Rather than relying on the painstakingly chipped handholds, the elder left a trail of his own, carving them into the black stone with awesome strength. “While that is fine news indeed...” Kain stood, brushed himself off, and stepped back to make room for Raziel to stand on this higher segment of the trail, “...it little explains the enmity in which my name is held. Tell me -- what, exactly, did I have to do with your murder?”

Perhaps, Kain feared, he had made no attempt to keep it from happening, or had failed in that attempt.

Gripping the stone, Raziel leaped nimbly to the top of the cliff and straightened.  Meeting the level yellow gaze, he tried to keep his composure--but in spite of it he could feel his muscles tighten, his hands clench at his sides.  He folded his arms and used the excuse of scanning their surroundings for eavesdroppers to look away.

"You ..."  There was a fine tremoring in his hands, a clenched knot in his gut that he feared he could not hide completely, despite his best efforts.  Raziel tried again, his voice harsh.  "You were instrumental in it.  It was you, Kain, and no other, that ripped the wings from my back.  And it was you that ordered me cast into the Abyss."  Speaking of his betrayal--his shame--like this did not lessen it.  His gaze was inextricably drawn back to the yellow eyes in that too-young face;  he watched and waited for Kain's response.

Kain’s eyes slowly widened. “What?” he demanded. “I... I would not...” and Kain halted -- for he would, and he had. Evidently upon the word of Raziel’s craven sire. His gaze went to the points of Raziel’s wings that rose over the elder’s shoulders, the bony spars folded so tightly they seemed to shiver, just slightly. Kain knew how fragile were those spans, how soft and sensitive was the stretchy membrane, as fine as velvet under the pads of his fingers. He knew how stalwartly Raziel stood by Kain’s side. He knew whose soul filled and empowered the Soul Reaver.

Kain stepped back, reaching to the jagged black stone of the nearby canyon wall as his balance tilted a moment. He had no words, his mind flicking over possibilities, any potential rationale that could explain... such a deed. “How is it... how is it that I am unrecognizable?” Kain asked, after the space of several long breaths. The Dumahim were twisted, mad. As their progenitor... perhaps Kain had become so, too.

Was that all Kain had to ask?  Raziel could not tell if it was vanity or avoidance that prompted the question;  but the icy knot in his belly twisted even tighter.  "You ... change a great deal in appearance as the eons pass.  As did we all." 

Kain swallowed. “I will do this thing -- to you -- out of insanity, then,” he said, and it was as much a statement as a question. He was not certain what Raziel meant by ‘we’, for while the humanoid vampires, such as the Razielim and these Zephonim, did change, they clearly did not become warped monsters such as the Dumahim. Understanding the motives of his future self, however... was important. If he could do so, he could take steps to stop himself. He had access to the timestreaming chambers, after all....

Kain's reasoning became somewhat more clear at that;  but it was hardly more reassuring.  Raziel shook his head, and his voice was very cold, very clear.

"No, Kain.  You were--are--perfectly sane, perfectly cognizant of your actions.  You made the decision, and no other."  In this, at least, he would allow his Sire no excuse.

“Then by the Dark Gods, _why_?” Kain demanded. What possible reason was there for such a sacrif..... The Dark Gods, the Ancients. They referred to Raziel, their Messiah, as being ‘outside the timestream.’ Kain frowned, thinking rapidly. “’Twill be easy enough to set the chronoplast to a date shortly before I... before the date. Betwixt you, I, and Tarrant, we are force enough to convince my future self of my error. As you are not altered by changes in the timestream... you would, I think, be unaffected.”

Raziel was already shaking his head before Kain had even finished.  "That is ... not possible.  There *are* reasons for my execution, Kain, beyond the ones that the Razielim know.  If we undo it, we risk unravelling Nosgoth's future--and your own."  Still, the fact that Kain wished to protect him, even from his elder self ... it loosened the apprehensive knot in his stomach, and warmed his expression slightly.  "I am not trying to be enigmatic, believe me ... but your fate and mine are intertwined like a puzzle-knot, and even now, I am not sure I know all the turnings in it." 

“Reasons?” Kain snarled. “What reasons could there be for an act beyond all reason? Raziel, you claim that I do not become some demented monster, like my progeny, but... to slay such a bold and stalwart compatriot as yourself, for the sin of developing a strength I have not... it is utter madness.” Would Kain slay a skilled astronomer, or bowman, for being able to do what Kain couldn’t? This was no different, for Kain was fully capable of flying, albeit not so well as Raziel.

"That was the reason you gave--or perhaps it would be more accurate to say the reason others assumed," Raziel said, very quietly.  In truth, he did not know if Kain had ever given a reason to his brethren for his death, or if he had remained the enigmatic and inscrutable Emperor to the end.  "Kain--I did not have near the power I now possess, before my execution.  And the Reaver you now bear ... is incomplete."

Kain snorted. “Given that you -- in your future and my past -- are to become part of it, I hardly see why I should have tried to slay you. Ever has the Reaver guarded my back and guided my hand.” Kain paused, thinking more carefully over what Raziel had said. “Was I attempting to prevent you from entering the Reaver?”  If so, then it was a miserable effort at a rescue.  "And what would complete the Reaver?” Perhaps by completing the blade, it would become more powerful, and then Kain might traverse time and challenge his future self.

"In a sense ... yes?" Raziel said carefully.  Kain was treading far too closely to things that he did not--could not--know yet.  Even worse, Raziel was not precisely sure where the line should be drawn between the things that Kain could be told, versus the things he must learn for himself in the fullness of time ...  Running a hand through his hair, Raziel gave a gusty sigh.  "I cannot tell you what will complete the Reaver."  Best *that* temptation remain secret, at least for the nonce.  "It took me a long time to see it, but ... you took what action you did because you had seen the bleak future ahead, one that no one else had.  A future I too have now seen--but only after my death.  In time, you will discover that future for yourself, and you will make your choices ... but I think I would do you a disservice by revealing it to you now."

Kain stalked to stand before Raziel. The canyon yawning beside them was dark, and the sound of wind and distant tumbling stone echoed a dull and strange roar, like that of falling water. “You mean to tell me,” Kain said, his fists clenched, “that I cause your destruction... out of some concern for a vision of the future? A spectre of what may or may not come to pass?” Raziel claimed to have seen it, too, but.... it was inconceivable that the other vampire should speak of his own final death, his sacrifice, so casually! Kain had eventually refused to sacrifice himself, after all, once he knew fully the costs.

"... you do."  What other answer could he give?  It was the truth--even if the enormity of that future had thus far escaped *this* Kain.  Raziel took in a deep breath, and held it--forcing himself to calmness as old hurts tried to make themselves known.  "Your every action has consequences, Kain--consequences greater than even you know.  Choices both already made, and yet to come ... "

“Again you play the haruspex,” Kain mused, turning to gaze out across the void. He adjusted a bracer, thinking. He may not understand entirely what horrors the future would hold... but he would find out. And once he did, he would find a way to prevent them -- a way that did not involve agony and betrayal as a reward for service and loyalty. Kain’s sense of justice might be warped, tainted beyond recognition, but he knew that much. Kain released a breath. “Did Haven revive you, then?” he asked, more quietly.

"They granted me a new life, yes."  Again a half-truth, but the whole could not be said.  Raziel attempted a smile, and failed.  "They gave me back my body, my wings.  Is it ingratitude that I demand my freedom from them as well?"  Of course, Haven had grown noticeably lax as a prison of late, as evidenced by them standing here, in Nosgoth, amongst his clan.

“Off what use is a caged hawk -- or body?” Kain murmured rhetorically. He tilted his head a moment, watching Raziel with a gaze as glittering and golden as Raziel’s own. “Tell me this, Raziel. Are you now safe? Beyond the reach of my future self, in strength and in magics?” The question was not precisely asked out of concern... or rather, not entirely.

"That is ... a question easier to ask, than to answer."  Raziel supposed being interred in the Reaver could be considered safety ... of a sort.  "I do not think any creature, regardless of their power, is ever completely 'safe'.  But yes--I am no longer be a puppet, pulled this way and that to another's tune.  It was hard-won, but I make my own choices."  Including the last.

Kain nodded, slowly, tamping down his annoyance. If Raziel had truly free will, then that was a grand thing, even within the confines of Haven’s strictures -- still. It was bothersome indeed to know that he, Kain, would never become so great as Raziel. However... the notion was not so threatening as it should have been. “As our presence, here and now, proves. This is an effort it seems that not even the Ancients foresaw.” Kain glanced up, towards the plateau overhead. The sounds of breaking camp echoed, filtered, from below. “I shall deal with this argument as swiftly as possible, and rejoin the effort shortly,” he said.

If Raziel had known Kain's true thoughts, he would have laughed loud and long.  Kain, sire to them all, emperor and god ... he would never be second to any creature, not even Raziel.  However, as it was, ignorance left Kain his dignity and Raziel his silence.

Raziel inclined his head.  "I shall be watching."  He did not wish to offend the younger vampire's pride by cautioning him to be careful, or voicing his suspicions that Kain was likely to find himself outmatched, but ....  "Call on me, if you require aid."

He did not believe Kain would do so.  But he made the offer regardless. 

Kain paused, but inclined his head politely, anyway. The statement of support against Tarrant, for whom Raziel had some degree of warmth, was itself bracing. Even if Kain would have to be hard-pressed indeed to call upon outside aid in a duel of this nature. “My thanks, Raziel,” Kain said, and meant it for more than the offer of assistance. He began to turn back to the path before him, then lingered.  “How is it that you have not slain me, long ere now? Or at the least, withdrawn your loyalty?” he asked. The former would seem to solve Raziel’s conundrum, and if that thought had not occurred to the elder before... it would eventually.

Slightly surprised at the unexpected question, Raziel said honestly,  "I have spent long enough hating your future self, Kain;  and in truth, it garnered me little."  He gave a small shrug, and turned to make his own way up the path.  "There seems little point in holding you accountable for sins you have yet to commit."  

Raziel glanced back over his shoulder at his too-young Sire, and gave him a tiny, ironic smile.  

"Besides--you have trained me too well.  This hawk seems always to be destined to return to his master's hand, no matter how far he flies."


End file.
